Seether
by Randirogue
Summary: It's not an illusion; I have updated again. Ch. 17. The chaos continues. An intense & complicated story. Rogue's memories haunt her. Her powers are evolving. It all ties in w Destiny's Diaries, Vargas, Gyrich, Sinister, & more. RogueRemy, RogueBobby
1. Chapter 01 Aware

****

Author's Notes

__

The following applies to the story, in its entirety, as I post it.

****

Disclaimer: Characters belong to Marvel. All lyrics are credited to performer(s) as documented. All Nursery rhymes and other non-credited intellectual property have been borrowed without permission or specific knowledge of who owns them. Lori McDonald has given permission for the reverences made to Looking at a Woman. All original characters and ideas contained within this story are the sole property of the author. No infringement is intended as this is written for fun.

****

Timeline-Universe: Set in the comic universe, specifically X-Treme X-Men. It is set after Khan's invasion was overthrown and begins during Rogue and Remy's recovery from being impaled by Vargas' sword. NOTE that the writing of this story started BEFORE the Khan's invasion story actually was completed in the comic and, thus, before Rogue and Remy were impaled by Vargas' sword, so there are variations from the ending of it. It strays vastly from the time of issue 16 and beyond. Because of this, Xavier's regained use of his legs was not predicted and therefore not incorporated into this story. Nor was the addition of Xorn and the Gen X-er's (etc.) into the X-Men included. Jono, however, had been recruited to the main teams prior to the time of issue 16 and is included as such.

**Summary:** Rogue's memories haunt her, her powers are evolving, and it all ties in with Destiny's Diaries. Many mysteries surrounding Rogue are explored and theorized: Rogue's early childhood, reasons for her inability to control absorption powers (while able to control powers she's absorbed), the depths and extent of her original powers, and the consequences of the latest evolution of her powers. There are multiple villains, deepening of friendships, and lots of mystery. This is a very complicated story with layer upon layer of plot and subtext.   


****

Archive: The more the merrier. Just inform me first via email (on my profile).

****

Reviews: Please, please post reviews on ff.net. They are very, very much welcome. I like to be publicly praised and critiqued. It can help other readers understand the story as well. I do accept feedback (praise or critique) via email too.

****

Acknowledgments: I take a lot of character history from the comics and other fan fictions, unless it absolutely clashes with what I've seen in the comics. Fan fictions references likely to come from **Lori McDonald** (specifically Looking at a Woman, and Thick as Thieves, which is co-authored w/ Valerie Jones), **Valerie Jones** (co-authored Thick as Thieves, unfinished but unbelievably good Blind Sight, and the Betrayal arc), and **Ruby Lis** (End of Innocence and Scars). 

****

Rating: **R.** This is a serious story and deals with subject matters that are intended for mature audiences. Violence and sexual scenarios are not explicit, and are (to my belief) within ratings parameters, but they are detailed enough so that the reader knows what has occurred and will have an esthetic understanding of these things. The focus is on the consequences of these things, how they effect the character's lives, and not on the violence or sexual situations themselves. **WARNING!** This story deals with child abuse, other violence, and mature material, including sexual relations both consensual and nonconsensual alike. If you are offended by these subject matters, I strongly suggest that you do not read this!

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Certain memories of Rogue's are in present tense while the staple of the text is in past tense. This is deliberate. It indicates the immediacy of these memories on Rogue's fore thoughts and the strangling effect they have on her consciousness to show that they super-cede all other thoughts and actions no matter how she outwardly behaves or thinks.

****

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Seether

Chapter One - Aware

By Randirogue

****

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

"From in the shadow she calls. And in the shadow she finds a way… finds a way. And in the shadow she crawls, clutching her faded photograph. My image under her thumb with a message for my heart. Yes, with a message for my heart. She's been everybody else's girl. Maybe one day she'll be her own…" (Girl --by Tori Amos)

Warmth, slowly turning hot enough to be distracting, itched at his feet and shins. Vargas shifted his legs away from the fireplace and looked up from his latest prize in his growing collection of Destiny's Diaries. This volume had been circumvented from the wayward band of X-Men who had purposely set out to solve the mystery of the diaries on their own, without interference from their founder, Professor Charles Xavier. Destiny had intended this copy to go to Rogue, specifically, along with a letter that had been folded neatly and placed just inside the book's cover who knows how many years ago. His attention being drawn from the diary to the heat of the fire stung him with a pang of annoyance. He quickly tamed it, since such pettiness was below him, and moved to his desk to continue his contemplation of the diary in his hand.

Vargas ran his fingers gingerly over a drawing on the top of a page near the center of the book. This drawing puzzled him. In it was two figures knotted together by a sheet that wrapped both of them. The male figure appeared to be him, but the female figure he had yet to identify for sure. Her face was hidden by Vargas' face, but the position of her body told him she didn't want to be there. While his figure seemed to be pulling her toward him, her figure seemed to be pushing him away.

Ignoring the woman for the moment, he traced the three thin spikes that protruded from his back. 

To the empty room, he asked, incredulously, "What is that?"

After a moment of consideration a slow smile spread across his face.

"Ahhhhhh," he said, drawing it out, "it must be..."

The figures seemed to be immersed in alien scrawling that he also had yet to decipher. He skipped past it, down to the drawing below it, taking up the bottom half of the page. Again, the woman and he were present. This time they were atop an arc, resembling a half sphere, formed of bodies piled upon bodies piled upon bodies. His figure was to the right, collapsed. Beside him and half over him, on her hands and knees, her head bowed, was the female figure. The sheet was still wrapped around and between them, but it was slacker now. Lines radiated from the woman, indicating glow or great power. They reached to the edges of the page, in all directions, overlapping all other scrawling in furious intensity.

"Great power, indeed," he thought aloud.

The lines of power, or glow, whatever they were supposed to be, dominated the page so much that the rest of the page was difficult to make out. It was what piqued his interest so intently when he first leafed through it. It wasn't until after several minutes of inspection that he'd realized he was the man in it. But, once he had, he became determined to solve the puzzle of it, especially the identity of the woman whose face was hidden in both of the drawings. He was almost sure of who it was, but didn't want to jump to false conclusions, so he eyed the fallen people with greater scrutiny. 

Darkened etches edged the arc of bodies. At first, these appeared only to be random spikes and cures. But now, now they seemed to be more. Without looking away, he grabbed the arm of a desk-mounted magnifying glass and examined the etching with it. A touch of a button and the magnification increased to its limit, and the random spikes and curves became tiny scribed words.

"Seethed not dead you but not you total access guard of the guardian ignorant confidence weakness is strength unleashed seething remembered seethed not dead you but not you total access guard of the guardian ignorant confidence weakness is strength unleashed seething seethed not dead..."

The sequence repeated four times. By the time he reached the end of it, he'd forgotten all about one word that had only occurred once, and thus, its significance was not yet realized.

****

~~~~~~~~~~~

"And I hate and I hate and I hate and I hate elevator music, the way we fight, the way I'm left here silent. Oh, these little earthquakes. Here we go again… these little earthquakes. Doesn't take much to rip us into pieces. We danced in graveyards with vampires till dawn. We laughed in the faces of kings, never afraid to burn. And I hate and I hate and I hate and I hate disintegration, watching us wither… black winged roses that safely changed their color. I can't reach you. I can't reach you. Give me life give me pain give me myself again" (Little Earthquakes -by Tori Amos)

Her singing is quiet and choppy.

"The itsy bitsy... spider went up... the water spout."

The words flow as they were remembered. Well, the sobs between the almost choked out words aren't part of the memory. However, she doesn't realize, within this memory within memory, that she is even remembering this song. The memory version of her doesn't remember much if she can help it. It could be her young age, since she is only four. Or, perhaps, it is a mutated defensive maneuver. Whatever it is, she wonders about none of it, either within the memory of chasing her spider and singing in the current state memory. The memory is outwardly consuming her and she pokes a stick in the faucet head, both in the memory and as she is remembering. But, the act is one act. Memory doesn't separate it. The child her is the adult her, but her recognition of this, fearfully, is as wane as the child's own memory. And as much as awareness allows, this memory isn't even hers. Awareness models perspective, and she hasn't completely trusted hers in years.

"Down came... the rain..."

She turns the faucet head, but it is rusted shut.

"To wash the... spider out."

In her floating state of mind, she realizes not the strength she has, and with a grunt, she gives up her efforts of turning on the water. She pouts, but with her shunted memory, she remembers that pouting is bad, although not why, so she stops.

"Out came the sun... and dried... up all the rain."

She jabs the stick into the faucet spout, punctuating the places where the sobs had been where the memory of the song began for her.

"Then the itsy... bitsy spider..."

She gives one final jab with the stick before giving up. She remains in her crouched position, her knees tucked against her chin, as she turns her attention to the ground, seeing it between her feet. She lightly pokes the ground there with the stick as if testing its durability, its readiness.

"Went up... the spout... again!" The last word is sharp, as pointed as the stick she stabs into the dirt, pulverizing it with the strength her memory has forgotten. It's out of context with the memory, so to correlate it, it takes another form. The stab echoes in her stomach. The memory takes imagined form.

Rogue jolted back, slammed her knees together, and fell onto her back. With a resounding, "Oomph," her lungs seized and the air rushed out.

A slow deep breath steadied her. She spoke before hearing the footsteps that approached her, before smelling the musk of his sweat and cigar stench. She didn't need the other senses to announce him when she'd already heard his mind, felt him deeper inside her than the claws she'd absorbed from him sheathed.

"You can stop right there, Wolvie," she said as she stood.

As she turned to him, a large web caught her face. Startled, she gave a quiet shriek and raked her face and hair to be free of it. 

"Hahahaha!"

Wolvie's laughter heightened her aggravated reaction. She glared at him and stomped the ground indignantly, shuddering, to restrain her ridiculous lingering urge to keep brushing off the web.

Still laughing, he said, "You gotta admit, Rogue, it's funny. The web scared you more 'n I did."

She brushed non-existent leaves from her backside to compensate for the still nagging urge to wipe where the web had touched her.

"Not scared," she said.

"Surprised, then," he countered.

She hardened her glare, not caring if she seemed childish [1], and absentmindedly clutched one hand to her lower stomach. 

__

Memories are clouds gathered in a spider web purse.

The strange and eerily familiar thought was formed just as absententmindedly.

"Huh? Memories... what?" Logan was taken back by the skewed reference as much as by her broadcasting it to him like a secret pass.

"Nothing." Her glare turned to a grimace and she clutched her stomach tighter. "Guess Ah'm channeling Jean, or the Prof," she said, skewing the truth, lying to herself more than to Logan. She paused, reluctant to bring up Betsy, and settled on finishing with, "...or someone."

Logan watched her warily and tried not to show he'd noticed her obvious stomach pain. _Probably just PMS_, he reasoned automatically. He did smell the faintest scent of blood, old blood.

"It _is_ not," she said even as she winced from the pain. She didn't notice the pain, or her expression from it. The pain wasn't really there, was it? It was memory not remembered, wasn't it? It was cloud seeping through the fine web mesh of the purse, right?

  
He reached for her, but paused before getting dangerously close. Considering she had met him there to work on controlling her ever-varying powers, she sure wasn't wearing much. A sleeveless shirt tied off above her waist and short cut-off denim shorts weren't what he'd call training wear. Still, he was glad she was dressing this way again. She'd always seemed more 'Rogue' dressed that was. The last couple of years, she'd discarded this look too often for a much more conservative always-covered-head-to-toe-to-fingers look. He speculated it had a lot to do with the Cajun. His forward and brash flirtation with her caused her to draw more inside herself, to cover up, to contain herself. Logan always viewed her armor of clothing as protective more for herself than for others. Oh, she honestly wanted to keep from hurting others with her uncontrolled powers and wanted to keep her mind from being overwhelmed by someone else's mind, but something tugged at him, nagging that she feared touch for more personal reasons. That nagging feeling also told him that she wasn't even aware, of it or her actions right then.

The silence stretched as he thought this all out. Rogue didn't seem to notice or mind.

"You okay, Rogue?"

She blinded, as if the time that motion took was all the time that had passed.

"Mind if Ah take a rain-check on the training? Ah think Ah'm gonna check on Remy."

She looked down at her hand clutching her stomach. Confusion twisted her face then disappeared, replaced by the stubborn resignation that had come to be her most common expression. It was as if merely being apprised was a test of willpower. She balled her hands into fists just behind her back. It was a forceful effort to keep from clutching a stomach that didn't hurt. She spoke to keep from discussing her behavior and to disguise it with worry for Gambit. 

"Maybe he's awake," she said.

She scratched the top of her left hand, near the knuckles, to convince the claws not to pop.

"Sure, darlin', I understand. We can do it tomorrow." 

A nod and she was off.

He watched her as she left. She was hunched over a little, moving with a stocky, predatory gait, and scratching at each of her hands where the claws begged for escape. The further she moved away, the more her demeanor became hers again, the less of Logan there was in her posture and step.

...And the more taut the tug at his chest.

Finally, out of Logan's sight, he felt her stop scratching her hands. The sensation was a soft snap, like a hair being plucked from his head, but almost damp, and centered at his chest.

__

I'll be watchin' out for ya, darlin'. Wait too long, and you might wind up as scrambled as me.

****

~~~~~~~~~~~

"You're my Angel, you're my Devil, too. When you fall, raise your eyes, and know the sun and moon will rise and lift you up in love, above this mad raging zoo… What if I told you, you were beautiful? With your scars and missing parts…" (Angel -by Concrete Blonde)

A part of Remy LeBeau his mind does not actively register was aware of the medlab table beneath him. It was an action like breathing, so ingrained, so constant that active thought was not connected with it. It was deeper. It was part of his physiology, more akin to shedding skin cells, really. No, even deeper. It was part of his metabolism, part of his cells. It was one of his mutations.

He had three powers atop enhanced agility and his devilish eyes. He could charge inanimate objects with kinetic energy for a desired result, ranging from a pretty fizzle to an explosion powerful enough to level a ten-story building. The latter took too much time and energy than was practical. Another power was his ability to charm people. This was a low level psionic ability that was closer to empathy than telepathy. He didn't really use it much, though. Sure it could be useful, but it was also contagious. It's one thing to catch happiness like a cold, it's another to catch heartache, or guilt. He had a lot of guilt and a lot of regret. He didn't want to pass it around. His third power was a special awareness. He called it his spatial sense. The Beast called it his kinesthetic sense. He could sense the presence, the differences of temperature, mass, distance, and motion of things around him, all by way of 'feeling' their potential energy available for him to charge. It was always on, whether he acknowledged it or not. It could be focused upon his command. In fact, all of Remy was under his own control.

Comatose in the medlab, his spatial sense automatically felt the contents of the room, but his conscious awareness was focused on his dream. It was a simple enough dream, but one he loathed to end. In it, he sat on his bed in his room in the mansion, propped up against the wall. Rogue was stretched out, across his lap, snuggling against his chest. Her eyes were closed, her breathing calm, and a contented smile graced her lips. Sultry jazz lulled them. Its rhythm guided the strokes of his bare fingers along her bare arm. He let out a long deep breath. This was his favorite dream.

On the table in the medlab, Remy's breathing raised his chest as regularly as the beep... beep of the monitor that mirrored his heartbeat. The steady rhythm made it seem like he was in idle. Another biological constant was also in idle. His spatial sense was a never-ending white noise inside him, projected from him, and received by him. It registered that Storm and Hank had moved to a desk far away from him. It registered their conversation, though not what was said. None of these things reached into his active thoughts, those of his dream. Not like Rogue's entrance to the medlab and tentative approach to him did. That even penetrated his dream, so strongly was her pull on him. In his dream he responded to it by leaning over and gently pressing his lips to hers. He did this just because he could. In his dream her powers weren't a barrier to their intimacy. And as such, he was surprised when he felt himself pass across that touch, that simple dreamed kiss, and into her. The transfer was tacky. It was as delicate as a silk thread. He was even more surprised when blackness didn't overtake him.

Then he remembered it was just a dream. It made him ache, even in the dream.

****

~~~~~~~~~~~

"…And I'll run naked through the streets without my mask on. And I will never need umbrellas in the rain. I'll wake up in strawberry fields every day. And the atrocities of school I can forgive, the happy phantom has no right to bitch. The time is getting closer. Time to be a ghost. Everyday we're getting closer. The sun is getting dim. Will we pay for who we've been? So if I die today, I'll be the happy phantom, and I'll go wearin' my naughties like a jewel…" (Happy Phantom -by Tori Amos)

Rogue hovered by his side. She held his gloved hand in hers. She didn't feel the usual urge to keep physical distance between them. 

Probably 'cause Ah know he ain't aware enough to even flirt.

Truthfully, she just hadn't acknowledged her brief hesitation before she took up his hand. Even when both were covered by the necessary armor of clothing to prevent the accidental activation of her powers, she still couldn't rid herself of that hesitation. It had been ingrained in her. It had become as innate as breathing, as her heart pumping, as her skin shedding. The fear that had come to accompany it was as practiced as the action of not touching. That show of emotion had become just as innate. It was a mantra that all her friends and teammates knew well. 

__

Because of Remy, because of Carol, because of Cody, because of… Ah can't touch… Ever.

Her friends and teammates commiserated her position and acknowledged proudly that she had taken proper responsibility for her powers. Of course, she did it because the transfer was an assault on her own psyche, even as temporary as it may have been. But they, especially Remy, were sure that her primary reason was to protect others. 

Little did they realize. Little did she realize.

With Gambit currently posing no threat of pushing her, her reflexes were relaxed. She allowed herself to fantasize the impossible. In this fantasy, she was cradled in his arms against his chest. She relished the feel of his bare fingertips languidly grazing along her bare arm. A smile tugged up the corners of her lips.

"Rogue… " Hank repeated for the third time. She broke from her fantasy and turned to face him. Red and black eyes looked at him.   


"Huh?" She asked.

Startled by her manifestation of Gambit's eyes, Hank looked to Gambit to verify she wasn't touching him, skin to forbidden skin. After acknowledging that her bare skin was in indeed not in direct contact with Gambit's, he returned his attention to Rogue just in time to see the slow transition of Rogue's eyes fading back into her own natural emerald green. 

__

This is still going on, he wondered to himself. Aloud, he continued the theme. 

"I'd like to perform some examinations, my dear Mississippi Marauder," he said with eager good will. "I have a number of theories about your evolving powers I'd like to extrapolate upon."

"Awwwwww, Hank," Rogue complained, again missing how childish she was sounding. "Can't it wait? Ah just got here."

"Okay, but I won't let you keep putting it off."

Rogue instantly brightened and returned to her make-believe thoughts. Hank chuckled to himself. She'd reminded him of some of the younger kids. A pout, a whine, get their way, and instant sunshine.

****

~~~~~~~~~~~

"What if I said I've seen a miracle? What if I said my dream's come true? Would you believe I have seen these things with my own eyes? And saw the world go dark and dead? And then go green and blue again… What if I told you, you were very necessary to the chain, the vein, the children of a young and foolish race? …What if I said I saw the future, and the future was the picture in your head? What if I said to you to paint another picture, and you'd wake up in that future that you'd painted? And you did?" (Angel -by Concrete Blonde)

Vargas turned his attention to the next page, the one opposite what he'd been studying for hours. This one was a drawing of Earth enveloped by an intricately patterned web. Several silken strands of the web stretched out into space, trailing off the page. One strand of the web lead up to a spider that sat in the cupped hand of an unspecified person. Vargas had a sneaky suspicion that the hand belonged to the woman on the previous page. Still, there was not any absolute assurance that person in control of the spider was indeed that other figure, let alone that the woman was who he was suspecting she was.

__

Maybe Irene did this just to give me a headache, he thought in mild amusement as he messaged his closed eyes. 

He closed the book and opened the letter.

Dearest Rogue,

I sympathize with your fear. Both of us do. We could never bring ourselves to push you in regards to that fear, to make you face it. Instead we pushed in other, perhaps more dangerous directions. It was as much for our plans as it was because we loved you. Never doubt that at least. We did love you. We did it in spite of what nature and fate had intended for you.

That time is over.

It is time to explore. It is time to remember. It is time to rebuild. 

Love, Irenie

Vargas photocopied the letter, replaced it in its original envelope, then into a second one_. _

Funny, what you can find on the Internet these days, he thought wryly as he addressed the outer envelope to the Xavier Institute, C/O Rogue. He even put on his return address. _Not like she's going to surprise me, right Destiny?_

****

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

****

FOOTNOTES:

[1] Rogue's childishness is purposeful. It refers to the memory sequence involving the "Itsy Bitsy Spider" scene and will have more relevance further into the story. There will be other purposeful and obvious discrepancies with other characters like Logan and Gambit.

****

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~


	2. Chapter 02 Denial

****

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Seether

Chapter Two - Denial

By Randirogue

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

"Snow can wait, I forgot my mittens. Wipe my nose, get my new boots on. I get a little warm in my heart when I think of winter. I put my hand in my father's glove. I run off where the drifts get deeper. Sleeping beauty trips me with a frown. I hear a voice 'you must learn to stand up for yourself 'cause I can't always be around.' He says, when you gonna make up your mind? When you gonna love you as much as I do? When you gonna make up your mind 'cause things are gonna change so fast…" (Winter -by Tori Amos)

"Mail call!" Bobby announced gleefully as he pranced into the house. 

He was just returning from a rather banal assignment, so banal, in fact, that mail distribution seemed like a raging party in comparison. He handed out the various pieces of mail to each of the X-Men as they made their way into the foyer to greet him. In a short time, the other X-Men filtered out of the foyer to their previous tasks, mostly relaxation. Bobby was glad for that. He was even grateful for the banal mission. For even though Bobby drake, eternal prankster of the X-Men that he was could always make light of any situation, the chance for enough calm to really allow him to cut loose and have fun on his own terms was a godsend. 

"Debrief now," Scott commanded curtly. 

__

Guess Scott's back to his old tricks again, Bobby thought as he groaned pathetically. 

He shoved the remaining unclaimed letter into his pocket. It was addressed to Rogue, and since he was under the misapprehension that she still wasn't there, he planned to put it in her room with the other few pieces of mail that had arrived for her since she'd departed with Storm and the others. He frowned at that. Of all the X-Men, only Bishop, the time displaced and least social X-Man, got less mail than Rogue.

Bobby hiked his bag up onto his shoulder and followed Cyclops down the hall. His thoughts strayed to Rogue. When was the last time he'd seen his road trip buddy?

__

God, it had to be what two, nearly three years since we spent any real time together. Since the road trip, he realized with a start. She'd run off after the blow up with Gambit._ Were they together now? _He wondered. It was hard to keep track. Last he checked, they were only lukewarm. In the middle.

He shook his head and released a short burst of laughter.

Scott turned back to him with a dim glare, "What's so funny?"

__

What's got your tights in a bunch? The thought only increased Bobby's mirth. _God, it is good to be back. _

Bobby shook his head, trying to stifle his amusement. When Scott turned away from him and continued towards the Prof's office, Bobby continued his previous train of thought. 

__

When Rogue had returned, she had brought Joseph with her. Nobody got much time with her then, not even Gambit. He smiled at that. _Silly Cajun, thieves are for… jail? Well, I don't know. Besides, who am I to talk?_

There was Onslaught, then Zero Tolerance, the Shi'ar space thing, he went to his parent's place…

__

Wish she'd visited. My dad actually asked how she was doing. _At least she called… Once_…

He was still unsure about all that had happened while he was gone. There was Apocalypse, Scott went missing, Xavier went missing—twice, Gambit's trial and all, the Skrull thing…

__

Something with that changed Rogue's powers. Mutated them. Made them more uncontrollable...

His mood sobered with that and was drawn to even more depressing thoughts. Joseph died, Piotr died.

__

Hank said she took that kind of hard. Not as bad as Joseph, but… Didn't realize they'd been close. What'd you expect, Bobby? You weren't around and she needed at least one friend that wasn't constantly trying to get into her pants… or wasn't close with the one who was trying to get into her pants.

Oh, yeah, and Psylocke. She was with Rogue's team. 

__

Man, three deaths. Wow. Maybe it isn't so great to be back. Makes another road trip with Rogue, Gambit angst included, sound like a picnic right about now. No, no, don't get on about that damned Cajun. It was pretty cool of him to baby-sit dad.

By the time they'd reached the Professor's office, Bobby was relieved for the distraction.

****

~~~~~~~~~~~

"Silent whispers, loud awakening, lost myself in pointless missions. Hope to live, hope to love, hope to be forgiven. Leftover dreams forgotten, misplaced thoughts, and empty spaces waiting to be filled and found. Spilt milk tears, for their fears, beat myself up through the years for my distant knowledge and neglect for the ones I love. We left behind no crumbs to find our way home. Love me now one, two, one, spirit. I cannot hide in silence. Take me or leave me naked. My cloth is surface anyway." (Mission -by The Murmurs)

"Hey ya'll," Rogue announced as she clambered into the medlab. 

Remy's spatial sense noticed her. But she wasn't close enough. Not close enough. He went back to his dream. There she was close. There she was everything he saw in her. Everything he wanted of her. None of it was true. But then, it was just a dream.

"You are fifteen minutes late, child. Is something amiss?" Storm asked as Rogue plopped herself onto the examining table on the other side of the room from Remy's unconscious form.

"Nah. Ah just got caught up in meditation. Wolvie's been getting on me since we got back." She shrugged. "Ah lost track of time is all." She glanced over at Remy.

Storm rested a comforting hand on Rogue's shoulder. Habit took over. Habit had become instinct. Rogue recoiled, shrugged off Storm's hand, and spun to face her. It was one jerked, fluid motion. Fear lanced her brow, then softened, made rigid with her fortitude. 

"Do not worry, child. He is fine. Hank is keeping him sedated."

Gambit had stirred awake in the wee hours of the morning. Rogue had woken up, somehow know he'd come to, but Hank wouldn't let her in. He had a battery of questions and tests to do on Gambit and assured her she'd be able to see him when she came in for her own tests.

"This is correct, my dear," Hank added as he joined them with a clipboard and printouts in hand. "Our ever charming Acadian is not so charming when stuck in a bed here in the medlab." He raised a quizzical, yet teasing brow to Rogue. "But whether it is for my benefit or his, I'm not quite sure."

Rogue smiled. It's what he wanted. If she didn't, she would only have more prodding to attest to. As it was, she wasn't sure what he wanted to examine her for. _Don't give him any more to worry about, girl. Remy needs his attention... Might as well get on with it._

"So what'd ya have in mind here, Sugar?"

"Foremost, I intend to catalogue your powers in their current state. Secondly, to determine if they've stabilized, and if not, thirdly, determine what may be expected to come of them. Lastly, and most importantly, to register their effect on your physical and mental health. For the latter part, I will ask Jean or Xavier's assistance of course."

"Well, that's a mouthful." Rogue raised a brow to Storm. "Don't sound like it's something ya'll can expect to accomplish in one or two sittings. Can ah assume, we're grounded here 'till Hank's done with his li'l experimentin', 'Roro?"

"I am afraid so, Rogue." Storm admitted. "It was foolish of me to allow you to accompany us before your powers were completely examined and…"

"And what?" Rogue's anger rose. 

"…Stable." 

Storm recognized the look that flooded Rogue's face with her statement. She was prepared for it, though. Rogue was clamping herself off. Her stability had been under scrutiny before. Since then, it seemed to many of the X-Men that Rogue would rather suffer complete madness before she would admit to even having a crack in her sanity. All that insecurity then gets channeled into anger.

On cue, Rogue snapped up off the table. Her flight kept her aloft. Her fury added a fine tremor through her hovering form. 

"Stable?" she said with a quiet, dangerous rage. 

Storm and Hank were surprised by this change. Rogue normally displayed temper tantrums, yelling, intimidating, throwing things, when angry.

Silence was a fear thing for Rogue. And when fear mixed with real anger, not just the covering-up-her-feelings anger, she tended to bolt. Neither Storm nor Hank wanted that. Especially since this reaction merely substantiated their concerns about Rogue and her seemingly ever-evolving powers, as had been the state of her powers since absorbing a Skrull telepath against her will.

But quiet rage?

They didn't know how to deal with that on Rogue. Storm and Hank looked at each other and saw their own reaction reflected back at them. Storm nodded to Hank then turned back to Rogue.

"Don't even call Jean in here, Hank," Rogue said. Her voice was just as quiet, just as contained, just as raging.

Hank responded with an incredulously risen brow.

"Yeah, Ah head your thoughts." Rogue smiled. It was devious. "Didn't Stormy here tell you? Ah can call on most of the powers Ah absorbed in the past as Ah want to."

Hank grinned, ear to ear. "You can control the manifestations, then? Indubitably, this is indeed good news, Rogue!" 

Hank's sudden outburst of cheer was infectious on Rogue. She sighed, and felt the rage slowly ease a bit. She lowered herself back onto the table.

"Ah know you mean well. Ah'm just tired of ya'll assuming Ah'm about to lose it any minute. Makes me feel like Ah'm eighteen again and Ah'm just a junior leaguer who's mind flip flops between my own and Carol's."

"We are just concerned about you, Rogue," Ororo said. "It is true that you've exhibited more control since we went out on our own. But you've also been even more closed off. I have witnessed some…" 

Ororo took a deep breath to prepare for any one of the possible violent reactions Rogue could have with the impending statement. She squared herself before Rogue and looked her sternly in the eye. 

"...Symptoms of your behavior that remind me of precisely that time with Carol." 

Rogue lowered her head. 

__

Ah will not throw a tantrum. Ah will not throw a tantrum.

She gripped the edge of the table on either side of her in attempt to ease the burst of tension filling her and threatening to overflow. Her fingers squeezed the metal like it was clay, soft, malleable, squishy even. Rogue clenched her teeth to stop crushing the table. 

__

Ya'll want to see control? Ah'll show you control.

She took a deep breath. She concentrated on Storm. She was right in front of her, within reach, but she didn't need to touch her to call upon the powers that were Storm's namesake. If she used Jeanie's telepathy, she could even surprise Storm with what she was about to do. In her concentration, she also felt Hank and Remy, tacky and slack. They were so close to her, they were fresh on her mind and she could feel their powers rising in her as well. 

__

Not them too. Too much. Not them. Just 'Roro and Jean. Just 'Roro and Jean.

She focused her concentration, felt Hank and Remy loosen from her, less tacky.

__

You can do it. Don't let yourself slip up now. This would be a poor time for that.

She felt Hank slide back down into her subconscious. She was so proud of herself she forgot about Remy. If she had thought about it, she would've convinced herself that she could still feel his presence because it had been part of her for so long after that kiss in Israel. But she didn't think about that. It would have been a lie anyway.

She gritted her teeth and gripped the table in concentration and not anger. It wasn't calling on the powers, nor using them exactly how she wanted that was so much work. It was using Jean's telepathy to keep Storm from sensing the weather alterations she was about to do. It was covering up that she was even using the telepathy on Storm as well.

Sudden blinding flash of lightning and thunderclap startled Storm and Hank both. 

"Goddess!" Storm exclaimed. She had been thoroughly taken unawares. 

Hank eyed her with disbelief. Cold rain drizzled down on them. They both looked up to see the small storm above them. Storm raised her hand, and with a dismissive gesture, the clouds dissipated and disappeared.

"I am impressed, Rogue," Hank said. He marveled over it a moment, studying the place the storm had just been and then Storm herself, who seemed agitated that the weather could act without her awareness. Then he continued, "But your control over these other powers raises questions about your—" 

Rogue was smirking at them. Her hands still gripped the table, but not firmly. 

"Then again," Storm said as she eyed what caught Hank's attention.

The table under Rogue's hands was glowing with kinetic energy. Gambit's powers. And it was spreading.

"Damnit," Rogue cursed then pulled the charge back inside her using Bishop's power. She shrugged and smiled with wry, resigned humor. "Oops?"

"You might as well agree, Rogue," Storm pressed, then softened. "We only have your well being in mind."

Rogue released a sigh. "Ah know. Ah figured ya'll would get around to it eventually." She shook her head then lowered it, letting her bangs hide her face. "Thought Ah'd have more time is all."

Hank's initial tests commenced then. Assisted by Storm when prudent, Hank took blood samples, checked Rogue's vitals, and got x-rays of nearly every inch of her. He logged every finding precisely. A CatScan was scheduled for later that week and he outlined his plans for the testing that would take place in the danger room. It would start out with the basics, measuring her vitals while exerting herself in the use of various individually and combined exercises of all her accessible powers. The testing would revolve around the physical and mental effects in increasingly complex medical examinations and power tests. By the time they were done for the day, only two hours later to Rogue's surprise, Rogue was thoroughly worn out. 

__

How can a gal get so danged tired doing nothing but sitting around, she wondered.

She spent a few minutes at Remy's side, willing him to get better soon before heading back to her room she for a deep meditation session, as Logan had gotten her into doing, to rejuvenate herself. 

Storm and Hank, however, stayed behind, discussing Hank's findings and plans.

"I'd like to involve Sage in this," Storm suggested. Upon Hank's quizzical gaze, she explained, "She recently triggered a latent mutant power in Slipstream, a comrade of ours back in Australia. I have suspicions she aided Rogue's newfound control as well."

"You're not suggesting—" 

Hank didn't get to finish the statement. Storm cut him off gently.

"I'm not suggesting anything at this point, Henry. I merely propose she could aid you in analysis and theory."

Hank nodded in understanding. As he returned to studying Rogue's medical files, he felt Storm read the screen over his shoulder. He blanked the screen, then turned to face Storm.

"Did the Professor ever discuss Rogue's powers with you?"

"What do you mean? We all know about her powers. Not the changes. But before that."

Hank sighed. "Xavier and I have had theories. Even before the changes. The direction of these changes reinforce these theories."

"What are they?"

Hank shook his head. "We've never even discussed it with Rogue. It was always mere speculation. I don't feel comfortable discussing it with you without Rogue present. It is a personal matter for her and not a matter of danger to the team. Your involvement in these examinations is welcomed as long as Rogue is comfortable with it. But—"

"It would be a violation of doctor-patient privileges if I were to involve myself more than I already have without Rogue's express permission," Storm stated matter-of-factly. She wasn't offended by Hank's discretion.

Hank sighed again. "I am most relieved. I shall see you tomorrow, at Rogue's next exam."

"Tomorrow, then," Storm said. 

She moved to Remy's side and gave his hand a squeeze as she watched over her friend with a worried frown. 

__

I'm not sure if it's a good or bad that you're not up and around for this. On one side, Rogue would no doubt prosper from your support. On the other side, you intrude on her comfort zone as if it were your duty to push him into physical and emotional closeness. And that, I'm afraid, has never been prosperous for Rogue. She doesn't like to be forced.

She smiles broadly, despite herself, as she remembers Remy's persistence in his persuasions with Rogue. If nothing else, he's a charmer.

__

And you, my friend, don't take no for an answer.

Remy felt her leave with his spatial sense. He felt her release his hand before that as well. He had felt her grasp his hand. He had heard them discuss Rogue. He had been reeled into semi-consciousness when Rogue had drawn on his power. He felt her use it with his spatial sense—so he had told himself—but truthfully it was like she'd idly cast a tacky fishing line and hooked him.

He almost squeezed Ororo's hand when she had squeezed his. Just to surprise her.

__

Dat would've been real funny to see. Even better if I yelled BOO! Merde! Heh heh...

He chuckled inside his mind. He was careful not to give any outward sign of his wakefulness. Beast would sedate him again soon enough as it was and after hearing the little he did, he wanted to find out as much as he could about what was going on with Rogue. As much as he joked to himself, he really wasn't awake enough to do any of the things he joked about. But he could eavesdrop and try to store the information he learned for use when Hank was done with keeping him sedated.

__

And I bet I'll learn a lot while Hank's going over Rogue's file. Heh heh. He's got a bad habit of talking to himself.

****

~~~~~~~~~~~

"I'm a dream liver, I'm a dream liver, I've got my ticket to Zen, and I'm going to a place where hypnotism rings. Going to a magic wonderful. It will mystify Dreams take me far away. Land like a sprinkle on an ice cream cone. Fly like a dragon, tossing dust of an angel through the air like snow. Fantastical state of mind… Flower petal take me to a dandelion den where they'll be rainbow bricks to climb, yeah, to climb so high. Walk on the byway with the chosen ones. Stars shoot our wishes, takes us to Zen. Build a bridge over sorrows. Know that they'll be gone tomorrow. Walk on the byway with the chosen ones… From branches I'll swing to my challenging skies. I'll grow vines of hope for you to climb. I'm a dream liver. I'm a dream liver. I've got my ticket to Zen and I'm on my way." (Ticket to Zen by The Murmers)

__

Who would've thought you could get brain freeze from a conversation.

It had been a long, tedious debriefing with Scott and the Professor. There was a lot of information to give them, boring statistical information filled mostly with names and numbers and wasn't anything Bobby didn't think they could've gotten over the Internet. But, since the Professor outed himself, he didn't want to use the Internet. Even with the Institute's advanced technology and securities, the Internet relied on wires and lines that can be traced. Nobody wanted to give the government or anyone else any more ammunition on the Institute since they'd come out of the closet, as it were.

__

Who would've thought I could get brain freeze! I'm Iceman.

He laughed quietly to himself, wishing Hank wasn't into some new research project down in his lab. He thought his closest friend would be available for more of their antics now that the Legacy Virus had been cured. But no! Hank went and found himself a new pet project and Bobby was left to his lonesome. Even Rogue with her constant mood swings was at least fun. Hell, even Gambit enjoyed a prank or two when he wasn't busy flirting and inducing Rogue's mood swings, of course. But they weren't here, he remembered. 

Bobby rubbed his temple as he turned the corner of the girls' dorm, nearing Rogue's closed door.

__

Ha! Brainfreeze! Bobby really knew how to appreciate a joke.

He halted just outside Rogue's door, letter in hand, ready for delivery, or storage, since her and a bunch of others were away on some extended mission no one around the mansion seemed to be willing to discuss too much. 

__

God, I really need to get some more friends. It's not a good sign when I get so amused teasing myself 'cause there isn't anyone else around to join in my fun.

With that, he entered Rogue's room. 

"Rogue!" Bobby yelped in surprise and embarrassment when he found her in it. 

He was not the type of person to bust into a woman's room uninvited. Especially Rogue's. She threw things. And she was super strong. And currently, she was sitting Indian style on the floor in the middle of her room. 

"Bobby!" Rogue exclaimed, mimicking him, but didn't move, not at all. She was in the middle of a meditation session.

She was backlit by sunshine from the wide-open window behind her. Her short hair—

S_hort hair, she cut her hair?_

—Rose and fell with the light breeze that came from that same window. Her face was softly illuminated with an amber hue from the candles on the floor in front of her. Her eyes were closed, face and posture relaxed, more relaxed than he'd seen her since…well, in a long time. …And she was beautiful. 

__

Wow!

A smile quirked Rogue's lips upon hearing Bobby's thought. _So much for the meditation._

"Ah'll take that as a compliment, Sugar," Rogue said without looking up.

"Wha… what?" Bobby stammered. 

Rogue looked up, grinning mischievously, and said, "Gotcha!" She uncrossed her legs and blew out the candles. Further teasing him, she asked, "So you think Ah'm beautiful, huh?" 

Rogue smiled wider. _This is fun. Ah could get used to embarrassing everyone._

Then it was Bobby's turn to grin. "You're projecting, Rogue."

Rogue frowned, playfully, and grumbled, "In or out, Bobby."

"In," Bobby announced as he moved further into the room after closing the door behind him. He walked past her bed, though he couldn't keep his eyes from flicking to it for a split second, and then sat on the chair at her desk. He straddled it and rested his elbows on the chair back.

Rogue stretched her legs and moved to her bed. She plopped down on it with tousled grace, propped her back against the wall, and pulled a stuffed alligator onto her lap.

"Time was, a guy was safe around you," Bobby prodded, keeping his tone light. His grin widened preemptively, "With his thoughts, at least."

He was rewarded with the stuffed gator thrown unceremoniously at him. Bobby laughed.

"Just be glad ah didn't use Gambit's aim with that," she teased.

"Oh, I am," He said, chuckling. He waved the letter for her to see. "You've got mail."

"So that's why you walked right in my room like it was yours to do with as ya pleased," Rogue said as she sat up on the edge of the bed. 

Bobby opened his mouth to give a smart aleck remark but she waved both hands in disgusted dismissal and scrunched up her face like she tasted something sour. 

"Ugh! Don't even say it, Bobby. You played enough pranks on me that Ah get the idea. Just toss it here."

"I don't know. I'm feeling kinda gypped here. I didn't get to go through your stuff and lay sneaky traps for later. I didn't even get to read it before you did, like I did with all your other mail."

Rogue flew at him, hovering just out of reach. "You didn't!" 

Bobby mocked opening the letter. 

"Bobby! Give it!" Rogue reached for it, but he pulled it away. In doing so he got a whiff of cologne. He leaned back out of her reach and smelled the letter. He grinned.

"It's a love letter, Rogue. There's cologne on it." 

She lunged for it again, and he pushed off the floor, sending the chair rolling sideways away from her. He read the name off the front.

"And it's not from Gambit. I can't wait to tell him you've got a guy after you all the way from…" he read the address and his eyes flew open in surprise, "from Spain. You have been busy."

"Spain?" 

Rogue raked her mind for the name of the person it could be from. She didn't know anyone from Spain. No one they ran into there knew where they were from. Neither did anyone they met have much interest in them other than getting them out of their hair after all that went down. They'd left Lifeguard and Slipstream in Australia. 

__

Who else could it be? 

And then she remembered.

__

"I have chosen you to be the first," were the words he had spoken to her before Beast came to her rescue, before Psylocke stepped in and took her place in death. A wave of panic crashed over her. 

"Vargas!" Rogue spat. 

"That's him," Bobby said, still teasing. He had his back to her as he held the letter up to the sunlight. He turned back to her slowly adding to the tease, "So, how does Gambit feel about him—" 

The look of hatred on Rogue's face stopped him. 

"Rogue?"

"He killed Psylocke." It came out as a growl. "Throw it out. I don't want anything from him." 

Rogue bit her lip and then went blank, still. She was spacing.

__

Ah couldn't fight him. Ah couldn't beat him. He was faster. He was stronger. He hurt me and Ah couldn't do anything about it. Nothin'! Ah was his. Ah was his. Ah was his.

Rogue's breathing increased and sharpened. She was hyperventilating. Her eyes opened wide, panicky as her breathing. Her pupils shrank to tiny pin-pricks, the emerald jewels of her irises swallowing the black centers. Then, just as suddenly, the black swelled to full dilation, eclipsing the green till that was barely the thinnest dull washers. Then they shrank again, then dilated again. Shrank, dilated, shrank, dilated. 

"Rogue! What the hell?" 

Bobby shook her, but she didn't change. 

One of her arms snapped up, her hand gripping her shoulder so she hugged her chest protectively. The other arm hugged across her stomach, its hand gripping her hip. Her knuckles were white on both hands, her fingers digging into her flesh. 

__

Can she bruise herself? Which is greater—her invulnerability or her strength?

He didn't want to find out. 

He pulled on her arms, trying to make her let go of herself. She jerked back and clutched tighter. He didn't think she could. But her arms quaked with their effort.

__

Ah couldn't stop him. Couldn't stop him. Nothin' Ah could do. Ah was trapped. Trapped. Hurt. Hurt so much. Ah was his. Ah was his. Ah was his.

He tugged as hard as he could on her arms and his hands just snapped off her like a stretched rubber band. 

"Shit!" Bobby cursed. 

He knew he couldn't strong-arm her. No way. But he had to try. Useless as it was. He had to try. But he couldn't. His arms felt like wet noodles. Now he was out of breath and covered with a light sheen of sweat. She was doing something to him. He wasn't sure what. But she was. Probably one of her powers. Maybe a defensive thing, something instinctual, because he didn't want to believe she'd intentionally hurt him and she didn't seem like she could be doing it by choice at the moment. She looked like she was in shock.

"Shit!" He cursed again as he paused to catch his breath.

__

Stop! No! No, no, no, no, no. Poppa, no. Please, don't. Please stop…

Bobby gasped, "Huh," and jerked upright. _I heard that. _

He softened from his frenzied panic. He approached her with new, curious eyes. He followed the length of her left arm. He saw how it covered her breasts. He followed the length of her right arm. He saw that it covered her… her… 

__

Dammit Bobby, if she had to feel it, you can at least acknowledge it.

It covered her groin. He looked into her terrified face. He didn't see the weakness of her fear. He didn't feel pity for her suffering. He saw the strength of her endurance. He felt humility in the face of her experiences. And somewhere deep inside, he felt remorse for the sudden loss of his perception of her eternal innocence, always untouchable as she was. He let these feelings soak into him, seethe into him, and he wrapped his arms around her, cradling her against him. 

"I'm here, Rogue. I'm here. You're not alone." Over and over again he repeated it, hoping to calm her.

She didn't release herself, she didn't loosen her grip, and she didn't acknowledge him. But a tiny whimper breathed out her mouth and graced his neck. With a jerk, he suddenly clutched her closer and Rogue bucked, spasmed. Her hands sprung out, the force of the motion knocking Bobby away and into the bookshelf a few feet behind him. She obviously didn't like what he'd done.

Bobby looked up at her in shock, thankful she hadn't actually pushed him, and gaped at what he saw. Rogue was doubled over on the floor. Her knees were drawn up against her face. Her eyes were squeezed shut. She was rocking in a frenzied rhythm that immediately brought one word to Bobby's mind, _Denial._ Her hands clutched her stomach, as if by not clutching the injured area of her body kept it from ever having been injured. Again, that word came to mind, _Denial_.

Bobby approached her carefully. She scrambled a few feet away to maintain the small distance between them. Then she resumed the rocking, the clutching, the denying. 

__

Dammit! Her own father!

He knelt down where he stood, mindful to keep his movements non-threatening. He watched her for a long while, unsure of what to do. If she wouldn't let anyone near her, what could anyone, even Hank, do? With her powers, especially when things like this happened—though he couldn't remember anything specifically like this ever happening before—neither Jean nor the Professor could even scratch the exterior of her mind with their telepathy. The most they could read on the best of terms was surface thoughts or purposeful verbal-like communication, and that was only when Rogue actively allowed it and participated in the exchange with her own psionic nature of her powers.

"Rogue," he said tentatively. "I don't know what to do for you. Should I do something?" 

He wished she would respond. He was getting tired in that position. His knees were beginning to burn for staying crouched for so long. He didn't want to startle her by standing, but his legs were getting shaky. How long had he been kneeling there, watching her?

"Rogue? Can you even hear me?"

Rocking, clutching, denying.

He touched the wood floor in front of him to balance himself. It was damp. It was sticky damp and it was warm, but cooling. He raised his fingers to look at them. He gulped.

He gulped again.

Blood. On his fingers. He looked at the floor. He saw a small stain of blood. It wasn't much, just enough to dampen the surface, definitely not enough to be a puddle. It wasn't life threatening. But it was definitely from Rogue. 

__

But she's invulnerable! 

He could count on both hands the number of times he's known her to be injured in a way that she actually bled from it. 

__

This is so not good. Nothing touched her!

He pulled the comm badge from his jeans pocket and activated it. "Hank? It's Bobby."

"Don't," Rogue said. It was one breathy word. But it was sure; it was solid. It immediately caught his attention.

"Hello, there Bobby," Hank's voice said through the comm badge. "What can I do for you my febricity challenged friend?"

Bobby looked to Rogue, who was now standing near the window. There was no sign of distress in her appearance or demeanor. In fact, she had a perplexed expression on her face as she eyed the carmine stain on his fingers and the floor below him.

"Did ya hurt yourself, sugah?" There was confusion and concern for him in her eyes.

"Just wondering if you were ever gonna leave that lab?" Bobby, covering, asked Hank with forced humor.

"Ahh, well..." Hank trailed off. It was a sure sign that he expected his next statement to be a downer for Bobby, who was probably leading into suggestion some mischief with his best bud. "I have just made an interesting discovery. But, I would gladly give up some time Friday night just for you."

"Sounds great." Bobby said, forcing himself to keep up the charade—though he wasn't sure why he was—for Hank. 

Bobby stood stock still, watching Rogue. He was leery of making sudden or startling moves near Rogue, afraid it'd set her off again. 

To Hank, through the comm badge, Bobby asked, "Want me to get you for dinner?"

"Indubitably!" Hank exclaimed before terminating the communication.

Bobby held onto the comm badge for a moment, considering calling Hank back and telling him why he really called down. He rubbed his tacky fingertips together.

"Are you bleeding, Bobby?" She asked, honestly wondering if he was. "Why didn't you tell Hank?" 

"You told me not to," he said, taken aback by his own words. He wasn't going to push it. Rogue never reacted well to that. But this was serious. It had to be dealt with, for her safety. Her safety was very important to him.

Rogue looked at him quizzically. "Ah don't get ya, Sugar."

"This is your blood, Rogue," he said, preparing for anything, be it thrown objects, her flying out the window, a denial. 

"My blood?" She looked herself over. "Ah don't have a mark on me."

He nodded. Words were getting harder. They were getting caught in his throat. "It's not that type of …" _How do I say this? _ He took a deep breath before continuing, "Not that kind of wound. I think… I mean… it's…"

"Just be out with it already."

"It's not polite to say, okay?"

Rogue's eyes widened. Shock, surprise, embarrassment? Her expression was a mixture of all, and yet, was none of them. She looked down at her legs again. A small trickle of bright red blood edged past the cuff of her shorts. Thoughts played across her face one after the other. Finally, confusion settled.

"But, its not…" She stammered, her thoughts trying to piece it all together, yet refusing the truth. "Ah mean—" 

She fainted. Rogue actually fainted. Bobby watched her, utterly shocked. After a moment, he realized that her chest didn't rise and fall. She wasn't breathing.

__

Shit!

Bobby simultaneously rushed to her side and activated the comm badge to Hank. "Get up here, now, Hank!" 

Bobby tried to check the pulse on her neck using her hair as a shield between his skin and hers, but couldn't feel anything. He moved to her wrist, using his shirt as a shield that time. Still nothing. 

__

How the hell can I feel her pulse through clothing!* 

He was so caught up in finding her pulse he didn't hear Hank's repeating his name through the comm link.

"Please, Hank, hurry. I don't think she's breathing!" 

"Bobby, calm down. Listen to me for a second, okay. Who's not breathing?"

"Rogue."

"Okay, where are you?"

"Her room. I can't find her pulse, Hank," he whispered frighteningly.

"Oh dear," Hank said, "I'm on my way." 

Hanks rushed movements could be heard over the comm link. He was keeping it open for Bobby, to reassure him. Bobby heard him bounding up the stairs. 

__

He just reached the second floor. Only two to go. Then he would have to get to the wing, then two more corridors, four doors. It's too long, too long. Where was Kurt when you needed him? 

Bobby yanked a sheet from her bed and wrapped it around her to protect himself from her skin. Then he sat beside her and pulled her into his lap. He wasn't thinking about preventing further injuries. He wasn't thinking about her injuries at all. He was only thinking that nobody could give her mouth to mouth. Nobody. 

"I'm scared Hank," he said, knowing Hank would hear him through the still open comm. He pulled her against his chest, trying to feel for any motion that would identify her heart beating, her lungs breathing. No air came out of her mouth. "She's still not breathing." 

"I'm almost there, Bobby. I'm hurrying. I've called for Jean. She'll lift her with her TK."

Bobby hugged her against him for a moment as he calculated the time to get her from her room to the medlab. He took a deep breath, and years of training took over. 

"She needs CPR, Hank," Bobby said over the comm. It was so calm, so controlled, so professional, Hank almost tripped. Bobby continued, his resolution strengthening him far more than his training ever had, "Do you have an inhibitor?"

Hank didn't respond. He didn't need to. They both knew the answer. Bastion took everything. Everything. Some things just hadn't been high on the replacement list, like inhibitors for medical emergencies for the only person whose powers would necessitate needing one. ...A person who was invulnerable, a person who was stubborn to her marrow, a person who had been off on another team, a person who had gotten newfound control of an accessible self-healing ability. 

Still, the realization sent a surge of adrenaline through Hank. He didn't think he could run faster, but he did. He rounded the corner and could see Rogue's closed door ahead of him. As he reached Rogue's room, he heard Jean round the corner of the corridor, racing only shortly behind him.

Bobby had unwrapped the blanket from Rogue. He didn't think about the blood seethed into the sheet nor the amount of it on the floor that could now officially be called a puddle. He didn't feel the soft cushions of her breasts as he pressed once, twice, three times. He didn't feel the silkiness of her full lips as his mouth pressed against them as he tried to breathe for her. All his concentration was focused on one thought.

__

Don't pass out. Don't pass out. Don't pass out. Don't pass out. Don't pass out.

He felt the pull of his mind into her, but didn't give himself the chance to marvel or worry over his still being awake. He moved back to her chest and pushed once, twice, three times. Then back to her lips. This time he did pass out. Thankfully, it was just as Hank and Jean entered the room. But, he didn't know that. It was outside the thought, _Don't pass out_. 

Besides, he already had.

****

~~~~~~~~~~~

"Lumina, come and wrap around me. Lumina take me through the snow. Eve took a train. Eve took a train. Went to see her man. Melting inside, melting away, like butter in the pan. Lumina come and wrap around me. Lumina take me through the snow. Eve took the fruit. Eve bit the fruit. Juice ran down her chin. Babies will put things in their mouth… Never heard of sin. Lumina open like the sea. Lumina see me in the dark. Eve had to ask. Eve had to ask, 'What is wrong with this?' Here is the place, now is the time, let's invent the kiss. Lumina come and wrap around me. Lumina come and wrap around me. Come and wrap around me." (Lumina -by Joan Osborne)

Lily perched on the porch swing. How she could perch while six and a half months pregnant was never explained. But her aunt let her be. She didn't bother her with questions like 'Where is your husband? Did you leave him? Will you return? Will he come here? Does he know you're gone? Does he know you're pregnant? Is your baby okay? Are you okay? Why don't you speak to us?' She doesn't ask these things because she knows there would be no answer in return. She has resigned herself to this. It has always been Lily's way.

Lily was her youngest brother's daughter. He was a well-known Baptist preacher. He was the heart and soul of this town. He was the wealthiest, most successful man in the town. Everyone looked up to him. Nobody was surprised that Lily, his daughter, turned out as she did. She was bright. She was beautiful. She had a fair and cheerful temperament. She cared for others, didn't have a selfish streak in her. She glowed, and that glow was infectious. It was hard to be anything but cheerful when around her. 

Because of all this, nobody paid any mind to her one peculiarity. She never answered personal questions—of any kind. Sure she interacted with people. She was quite the socialite. It was no surprise when her father showed her off in his political circles. Only the very best for his delicate flower.

Lily was soon snatched up by an up and coming young man with great potential, if little in the way of family name. He had political aspirations and was quickly making a name for himself. He was an engineer with respect in the robotics community. He had a great many theories and plans. Soon after meeting Lily, those plans included her. The two of them fit like two halves of a simple puzzle. Just as Lily didn't answer personal questions neither did she ask them. She didn't involve herself in his profession, and that suited him just fine. She had her heart set on raising a whole house of children and busying herself solely with adoring them. They were married inside of a year, and within six more months, she was pregnant. Another six months had her on her aunt's doorstep carrying the only possessions she brought with her—the baby growing in her stomach and her cheerful demeanor. 

Her aunt refilled her lemonade and watched Lily for a moment. Lily rocked in the swing in a lazy and contented manner. She held a glass of lemonade in one hand and touched her belly with the other. She always was touching her belly. She was always talking to the baby inside. When someone was in earshot, she spoke of nonsense, sung lullabies, and recited children's rhymes. When nobody was around, she infused everything she'd ever wanted to share and teach her child with her words. It was as if she knew she only had this time to do it. She had to beat out the teaching of others. She would not be around to protect her baby from the evils of the world. She needed to prepare her now, while she had the chance. And she had to hope it was enough.

Since her aunt remained after refilling her lemonade and, in fact, took up beside Lily on the porch swing, Lily recited one of her favorite rhymes. It was one her own mother had told her over and over again before she had died. Her mother had drowned. Their home edged the Mississippi River. Her mother loved to take walks along the river. Since Lily was old enough, she often brought Lily with her. She never listened to the concerned warnings of the danger of the river during the rainy season that were made by her husband and her husband's sister. That year, the rains were no worse than they were accustomed too. No better either. Lily's mother didn't heed the warnings. But, she let Lily's father talk her into leaving Lily behind and permitting him to accompany her instead. Still, she got too close. She slipped on the saturated silt. She was caught by the river and swept downstream. Her body was found, battered and bruised from the extensive beatings the debris in the river, three miles away. Lily's father was distraught, a veritable living wreck. Lily was worse. She was eleven years old. And from that day forward, she never answered or asked a personal question.

"Hickory, Dickory, Dock," Lily recited to her unborn baby, "the mouse ran up the clock." 

Lily scampered her fingers up the mound of her belly for effect. 

"The clock struck one." 

Lily did a playful tap at the one o'clock position around her belly button. 

"And down he'd come." 

Lily scampered her fingers back down. 

"Hickory, Dickory, Dock!" She exclaimed with an enthusiastic smile.

Lily sipped her lemonade. Her aunt spotted the emergency suitcase—the one packed and ready to go for when Lily went into labor—sitting on the porch beside the swing. Her aunt sighed and stood.

"Dinner will be ready in an hour," she said then returned inside.

Lily continued her lessons to her daughter. Periodically, she would sip her lemonade. Mostly she hunched close to her belly, drawing circles on it in subtle reassurance.

"Ah know that was rude," Lily told her baby, "but Ah don't have much time left and Ah have so much ta tell ya. Yoah coming tonight, ya know?

"Okay, where'd Ah leave off? Oh yeah, Ah 'member. Ah am a special person. It's what a few people in the know are calling a mutant. Ah'm one o' the most common type. Ah have a power that normal people don't have. It is called telepathy. But it is very weak. It's only reliable on people Ah know pretty well. It's how Ah knew mah momma's death wasn't an accident. But who woulda listened to meh. Ah was eleven years old. And mah pappa, well, everybody just loved him. They neveh woulda believed a thing like that. So Ah kept mah mouth shut about it and got away as soon as ah could. It wasn't the only reason Ah wanted out o' there so bad, but that don't matter none, 'cause ya won't have ta deal with that. Mah aunt promised ta take care of ya when Ah die. Ah had her sign papers and everything. But, still, just in case, don't spend much time alone with him, okay? 

"Now yoah poppa is a good enough man. He was always good to me. And Ah'm sure he woulda been good to ya'll for as long as yoah abilities didn't come up. But they will, Sugah. That's why Ah left. Yoah a mutant like me. I can feel it. But yoah a different type. Yoah are really special. Not one other person gonna have yoah powers. Ah swear it. Ah'll get to how ah know in a minute, just take meh at mah word for now, okay? 

"Now yoah poppa is a powerful man in his own way, not like ya'll be. But, it is related. Yoah poppa is dead set against people like us. Ah didn't know it until Ah knew him real well, because mah powers didn't pick up on it. He will be a danger to ya and others like yoah'self. 'Cause there are more and more of us being born all the time. Pretty soon they'll be debates about it between political candidates on the television. Ah swear it. Yoah poppa fantasizes about it. He knows they'll be sympathizers to us, there always are. It'll be like a race war, he thinks. It'll be like in the fifties and sixties, when people were all in a huff about equal rights and hatin' war an' all. It makes sense. It doesn't take a mind reader, well, let me rephrase that. It doesn't take someone reading the future to pick up on that little bit of insight.

"Ah'm afraid of yoah poppa for yoah sake. Ah knew Ah wasn't going to live through yoah birth within the first trimester. Ah could feel ya tuggin' at me. Ah don't mind. Yoah gonna be worth it. Ya'll make me a right proud momma, Ah just know it. So Ah give myself to ya willingly. Ah push as much of myself into ya with every breath, every word, every thought and every feeling. Ah want ya strong, cause yoah gonna need it. Yoah power won't be easy to hide, like mine. People will know when ya use it, and ya will too. It'll be hard for ya. Even if on accident. 

"Yoah power won't be explained away like mine could be. People always pass mine off as meh just knowing people closest to meh so well that Ah can read 'em like an open book. Ya won't have that luxury. So, to protect ya, Ah had to get away. Ah already convinced mah doctor to send word that we both died in the delivery so yoah Poppa don't come chasin' ya down. It took a lot of energy to do that. Ah've known the doocter mah whole life, but ah'd never tried to force a person ta do or think something before. It was the hardest thing ah eveh did. Ah had to be thorough about it too. Ah had to make sure that nothin' would keep him from makin' that call no matter what happens. And Ah am sure he will. 

"Only thing ah regret was the amount of energy it took to do it. Ah was wasted afterwards. Ah was actually worried Ah mighta hurt you. But yoah just fine. Still, Ah'm sorry Ah put that energy into something other than ya. Yoah gonna need it, Caitlyn. Yoah gonna need it. It belongs to ya. Ah belong to ya. Ah'm not the least bit worried about dyin' 'cause Ah know yoah gonna take as much of meh inta yoahself as ya can before yoah on yoah own."

Fingers of pain split across Lily's belly and she winced. "Ah know, Sugah, Ah know. It's time."

****

~~~~~~~~~~~

"My heart shoots straight up in the air when you hold my hand, when you free my mind. But just make sure you're not wastin' time, wastin' time. Answers, answers, yeah you need them now. My heart's abounding, ripping, falling down. Don't expect no answers, don't expect my life. Cause I just need to waste some time, waste some time, time, time, time. Something please come along and rescue me. I need to run away, I need to be free. But just don't rush me, I've never come across this in my life. Well I'm usually random, and I'm rarely right…" (Wastin Time -by The Murmurs)

Jean had carried Rogue to the medlab with her telekinesis. At the same time she contacted the other X-Men, to put them on alert and keep them from interfering, and Logan, for Rogue to draw on his special talents. Beast had carried the unconscious Bobby easily in his arms. By the time they'd all reached the medlab, Logan was waiting for them. He was holding back an irate Gambit, who been feigning sleep again when Bobby alerted Hank, and thus over heard right from the first. He was about at the end of his patience with worry and confusion by the time they all entered the medlab.

"Mon Dieu," Gambit exclaimed when he saw Jean carrying an unconscious Rogue. There was a lot of blood. And it was still spilling from her. It dripped into a puddle within Jean's TK field. 

Beast laid Bobby on the examining table as Jean lowered Rogue onto an empty bed. Once Rogue was settled, Jean spun on Gambit and launched a telekinetic field around him to hold him in place. 

"Enough!" Jean yelled. She looked to Logan. "Logan, you know what to do." 

Jean kept her attention on restraining the Cajun while Logan did his thing.

Hank stood nearby to catch Logan when he passed out from Rogue's power. They were all hoping that he'd only have to graze her skin, just enough to remind her body that she already has access to Logan's resilient healing factor. But when that didn't happen, Logan placed both palms flat against her bared chest and face. He was willing her lungs to work as much as he was giving her the means of making it happen. After a moment, Logan collapsed and Beast caught him. As he tried to make Logan comfortable until he awoke, he was interrupted. He dropped Logan on the ground where he stood and rushed to Rogue's side. She was having convulsions. Blood was pouring down her legs, soaking the sheets. 

"Gambit, stop!" Jean demanded as she fought to hold her TK hold on him when he surged at Rogue. 

Seeing Rogue convulse with Hank and Jean preoccupied, he'd wanted to rush in and do something, anything to help. Jean knew what deep down he knew as well. Hank, as their only resident doctor at the moment, had to handle it. That's why she was holding Gambit back. 

"You are not helping," Jean told him, "You are keeping me from aiding Hank. I will make you leave, or I will put you to sleep if I have to. Stay out of the way."

Reluctantly, Gambit nodded, but Jean could still feel him throbbing against her TK field. Finally, Hank reached Rogue and Gambit went still. Jean released the TK, but kept herself ready to raise it again if Gambit used the opportunity to rush to Rogue again. When Gambit sat down on his own bed, resigned to watch from the sidelines, Jean turned immediately to Rogue's side so that she could aid Hank any way she could. 

Hank held a readied adamantium needle over Rogue's flailing body. He looked to Jean and said quite calmly, "Would you do the honors, my dear."

Jean took her cue and held Rogue's body perfectly still with her TK. Hank administered the sedative. Jean was about to release Rogue, when Hank grabbed a second readied adamantium needle and administered another full dose of the sedative. Jean waited this time before she considered releasing the TK field.

"You can release her now," Hank said, though they both watched to see if the sedative had any effect before either spoke further. 

Hank continued first, "I had to be sure. Logan's healing factor and all. I wasn't sure if it would take at all."

Jean was about to speak, but Gambit beat her to it. "What's happening, mon ami? Why is Rogue like dis?"

Gambit looked expectantly from Hank to Jean to Hank again. Jean shrugged, unsure herself.

With a glance over at Bobby, Beast answered, "I don't know. We'll have to ask Bobby when he wakes."

Jean then discarded what she was going to say and gave her attention to Gambit so that Hank could set up the appropriate monitoring devices. 

"Gambit, you need to calm down," Jean said. "She's stable now."

"You call dat stable?!" Gambit's eyes flared with anger, frustration and concern for Rogue. He took it all out on Jean, "Merde! She was just in convulsions all over de place not just a minute ago. Y' knocked her out. She's breat'ing, her heart's beating, but she isn't stable."

"You're right. I am sorry. But you need to stay calm and let Hank work."

And as if on cue, Hank addressed Jean, "Jean, could you contact Kurt?"

"He's her closest relative," Jean added for him.

"Yes, but more importantly at the moment is access to an inhibitor collar and quickly. I am afraid I cannot complete a proper analysis of her injuries safely without one."

Beast finished hooking up the monitoring equipment then joined Gambit in his silent waiting for Jean's confirmation. 

After a few moments, Jean nodded. "He's on his way to Muir Island now to find one," She informed them. "He'll port here as soon as he does."

Gambit let out a sigh of relief. Hank sank into the chair he'd pulled along side Rogue's monitoring equipment.

"We were lucky that I thought to replace the adamantium equipment," Hank said. The steady rhythm of Rogue's heart and lung monitors reassured them that she was alive and holding steady at the moment. "On short notice, in most medical emergencies, surgical steel would've been adequate for everyone on the team. Only Rogue necessitates the adamantium. It wasn't even with her in mind that I'd replaced them. It was merely habit. My credence in Rogue's invulnerability and her healing factor from Logan, not to mention her recent departure, clouded my judgement. I was not prepared to deal with a medical emergency with Rogue." He inhaled deeply, and let it out slowly. "If it weren't for Bobby and Logan, I'm afraid that our resident Southern Belle could have most certainly—"

"Non!" Gambit cut him off, refusing to even hear that possibility mentioned. "Dis is Bobby's fault. He called y' once, den changed his mind. He knew somet'ing was wrong. He knew. He waited to call again till it was almost too late."

Hank took great offense to the accusation Gambit made against his best friend. "He gave her CPR, Gambit. Why do you think he's unconscious now?"

"Don't know for sure, but I aim to find out."

Jean stepped between Gambit and Bobby, blocking Gambit's view of Bobby, then said, evenly, "He did, Gambit. I saw him do it." 

Gambit sidestepped, trying to keep Bobby in view. 

"Pah!" 

His movement had taken Rogue out of his view, so he moved back and sat on his bed. His choice was clear. Rogue was the more important to him.

Gambit got an eyeful of all the blood on Rogue's legs and the bed below her. It, thankfully, had stopped flowing once Logan's healing factor kicked in. But even though it wasn't still seeping out, it was a lot. Staring at it as he was riled him up all over again. He jumped to his feet again so quickly he passed Jean and nearly got up beside Logan before Jean threw a TK field up to hold him.

"What is wrong with you?" Jean demanded.

Gambit gave her a wry grin. "Maybe you just t'ink he give her CPR. All you saw was his lips on hers, n'est-ce pas isn't that it? Somet'ing made her bleed. Someone made her bleed."

Hank, shocked, stood. "You are not suggesting—"

"We all know he's fond of Rogue, neh?" He eyed Hank credulously, "Don't even try to deny it."

"They are close friends, Gambit," Jean assured.

"Really?" The word was slow, drawn out. It was saturated with doubt and sarcasm.

"That's all," Jean repeated sternly.

A familiar SNIKT sliced through their voices from directly behind Gambit. 

"He didn't do anything, Bub," Logan said. "He wouldn't. Kid ain't got the brass up to say anything about it since the day he met her then he sure don't got the brass for what you're saying."

"Ain't dat de trut'." Gambit shrugged. A short chuckle escaped him. "Now dat, I believe." 

He returned to his bed. Jean and Hank sigh in relief.

"So what's taking the elf?" Logan asked as he sheathed his claws.

"How long have you been awake?" Jean asked Logan.

"Long enough," Logan said with a shrug.

****

~~~~~~~~~~~

"All through the night I'll be awake and I'll be with you. All through the night… this precious time when time is new. Oh, all through the night today, knowing that we feel the same without saying, 'we have no past, we won't reach back, keep with me forward all through the night.' Until it ends there is no end… Let me be there let me stay there a while…" (All Through the Night -by Cyndi Lauper)

It was a long and terrible birth. Lily's aunt was in the room with Lily as her coach. She'd never before heard curses stream from Lily as right then. Never heard her curse at all before. The curses were dispersed around ramblings and instructions and explanations spat out desperately to Caitlyn. Lily's aunt assumed that was the baby's intended name. Though they hadn't ever determined the sex of the baby.

"Caitlyn's… her… name—aaaarrrggg!" Lily bellowed. 

When the contraction ended, Lily continued her ranting. 

"Caitlyn's gonna be a spitfire. She ain't gonna put up with crap from nobody. She's gonna be sassyyyyyyyyy!" She hollered through the whole of that one. She didn't even take a breath before she spoke again, beaming, "An' stubborn an' strong." 

Then she did take a breath, a deep painful breath. 

"An' sweet an' carin' an'—" 

Lilly heard the baby's heart monitor go flat. 

The doctor exploded into action. He shouted something about emergency C-section and sedation.

__

No! Yoah gonna do what ya have ta. Whatever it takes!

Flatline. 

The nurse tried to inject something into Lily's IV but Lily smacked her away viciously.

Caitlyn yoah a scrapper.

Flatline. 

The doctor, ready to make the incision, insisted Lily be under anesthesia so again the nurse attempt the injection. This time, Lily almost fell off the side of the bed when she heaved the nurse away. 

"No!" Lily yelped. Lily needed to be awake. It wouldn't work if she wasn't awake.

Yoah a fighter, Caitlyn. 

Flatline. 

The doctor gave up on the sedation and went for it. Lily's piercing shriek put voice to his long cut across her belly.

__

Yoah gonna do what ya have ta. 

Flatline.

The doctor's hands reached deep into her womb, but Lily dug deeper into desperate, determined resolve.

Whatever it takes!

Blip-------------ip.

The baby's heart monitor beeped, then beeped again. Weak and slow as it was, the sound of Lily collapsing back against the bed in exhaustion drowned it out for a moment. The umbilical had been wrapped around Caitlyn's neck, strangling her. But, now that the doctor had loosened it, the beeping of the monitor got louder and steadier. 

Lily's aunt looked to Lily just as Lily's monitor showed one last desperate blip. With one final gasping breath, Lily pushed all of herself, her hopes, her ideals, her strength, her endurance, and her powers, all of it into Caitlyn. She felt it slide through the umbilical into her baby. She tried to hold only one thing back. She held back her memories. It was the one thing she wouldn't give her baby. She wouldn't give Caitlyn the pain her own father had caused her, the pain that stayed with her until her last breath.

Caitlyn's monitor went silent.

Caitlyn was free from Lily so the monitor connected to Lily didn't register a dependent fetus anymore. Caitlyn was living on her own now. Lily's work was done.

Beeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeep. 

Lily's monitor. 

Lily's turn to flatline. 

Beeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeee—

The nurse turned off Lily's monitor. It's missing keening was replaced by the stressed wail of Caitlyn's first cry.

Lily died at 4:17 PM. Caitlyn Leigh Gyrich was born, via C-section, at 4:19 PM. The doctors were surprised Caitlyn survived her mother's death.

Despite her girth and strong, steady vitals, Caitlyn was kept for two weeks in the hospital. When the doctor sat down with Lily's aunt, her aunt's husband, and Lily's father to discuss the possible complications that could arise from such a premature birth, Lily's aunt paled. She already had four children of her own. Lily's father helped out financially as it was, but a sickly child was more than she could handle. As much as she and her husband hated to do it, they broke their promise to Lily. They gave Lily's father custody of Caitlyn. 

__

There was no other way, Lily's aunt reasoned to herself. 

The aunt's two brothers lived very far away and had large families of their own. Lily's father would never allow Caitlyn to go to a stranger when he was quite capable of providing Caitlyn with a family, with necessities, with tutors and servants and proper fineries. 

So it was decided. Caitlyn went to live with Lily's father, despite all of Lily's efforts otherwise.

The following day, the doctor made a phone call he didn't even realize he was making.

"Mr. Gyrich? Uh.. Mr. Henry Peter Gyrich?" The doctor asked the young man that had answered the phone. "I have some bad news, Mr. Gyrich. You're wife died in childbirth… a girl, sir… no, sir, the child did not survive…" 

There was a long pause, so long that the Doctor thought that maybe the other man had never been on the line to begin with. "Mr. Gyrich?"

"Thank you," the young man said then hung up.

The line was dead, so the doctor did the only thing he could. He hung up the phone. He mailed copies of Caitlyn's birth certificate, Lily's death certificate, and strangely enough, Caitlyn's original, albeit false, death certificate. Then, he went on with his life like the phone call had never occurred. In fact, to his memory, it never did. He never remembered mailing the documents. He never remembered making the phone call. Lily's manipulation had worked.

Henry Peter Gyrich, however, never forgot. When he hung up the phone, he remained in the same seat for hours. He didn't leave his house for a week. He didn't open his door to visitors or concerned friends and family members. He rarely ate. He drank a lot. He didn't grieve. When he sobered, he returned to his previous research and rallies with greater vigor. He attacked life with a bitter mind and a hardened heart.

How dare these mutants live and breed when Lily and my daughter died! 

He made it his mantra.

****

~~~~~~~~~~~

"So I ran faster, but it caught me here. Yes, my loyalties turned like my ankle in the seventh grade, running after Billy, running after the rain. These precious things, let them bleed, let them wash away. These precious things, let them break their hold over me. He,' said you're really an ugly girl.' but I thanked him. Can you believe that, sick, holding on to his picture, dressing up every day? I wanna smash the faces of the beautiful boys…" (Precious Things -by Tori Amos)

Nightcrawler arrived with a stinky brimstone Bamf! He startled the waiting, pacing, fretting X-Men. 

Rogue was awake and very mobile. She was currently sulking angrily on her medlab bed. She was dressed in a fresh gown and the sheets had been changed on the bed, but she absolutely, adamantly refused to lie down. 

"Ah'm was fine!" She'd exclaimed. She then showed them so when she stomped stubbornly behind a screen to change. 

And truthfully, she was fine. Logan's healing factor had repaired the damage she'd suffered and even burned off the sedative an hour earlier than Hank had estimated. The only reason she was still in the medlab was because the small gathering of X-Men threatened her. Bobby and Storm included.

Bobby had awakened without permanent damage, and Storm had arrived shortly after Bobby awoke. Hank refused entrance to any of the other concerned X-Men. The room was crowded enough as it was.

Rogue shrugged off Gambit's attempts to comfort her with a clothing shielded embrace. Eventually, he'd gone to his own bed to sulk.

"What took so long?" Gambit demanded at Kurt's arrival.

Kurt ignored Gambit, but directed his response to the question to Hank McCoy instead, "My deepest apologies, mein gott, but I ran into—"

"Explain it all to us later, my fuzzy friend," Hank said as he took the two inhibitor collars from Kurt, "I do not think Rogue will ingratiate us with her presence for much longer." 

Hank eyed the collars before choosing one to use. They'd both seen better days. One of them appeared to have scorch marks on it. Hank raised a quizzical brow to Kurt at their condition. 

Kurt opened his mouth to explain with an I-was-trying-to-tell-you look when Hank cut him off. 

"Later," Hank told Kurt and turned to Rogue. 

Rogue crossed her arms across her chest defiantly and frowned. She didn't prevent him from putting the collar on her, but she wasn't going to help him either.

Hank turned to the awaiting X-Men and said, "I think this would be easier if everyone gave Rogue some privacy."

Jean and Storm wished Rogue good health and left without complaint, as opposed to Bobby and Remy. Bobby stayed right where he was, sitting on the edge of the bed directly beside Rogue's. Gambit hopped off his bed, which was further away, but made no effort for the door.

"I'm not going anywhere, mon ami," Gambit stated flatly. Then he grinned. "'Sides, doctor's orders; I'm confined to de medlab."

"This is stupid," Rogue complained. "Ah'm fine. Wolvie's healing factor done took care of everything."

Bobby stepped forward and spoke softly, "Not everything, Rogue." 

Sure he was referring again to what he'd repeatedly called an 'emotional episode' since he'd woken up, Rogue threw him a threatening glare.

"I heard you, Rogue," Bobby insisted. "You said—"

Rogue promptly picked up a small instrument from the examining tray beside her bed and threw it across the room. 

"It wasn't me!" She screeched. The last word was punctuated by the clanging of the instrument against the wall. Neither the medlab nor the instrument suffered any damage. Hank was grateful she'd had on the inhibitor collar.

"Chere, y' were bleeding. Mon Dieu! Dere was a lot of blood." 

"And it's healed now," she reminded them. _Why don't they get that!_

Gambit reached out to her for the fourth time since she'd woken up. She wasn't well covered by the flimsy examining gown, but with the collar, her absorption powers offered no threat to him or anyone else. Still, she flinched like he'd struck her when his hands stroked down her arms from behind. Gambit took it personally. 

Bobby on the other hand, made the connection. _Powers or no powers, touch was bad._ He stepped up to Gambit and tugged him back from Rogue, who was still cowering away from Gambit's closeness. Gambit shrugged Bobby off, and glared at him, but Bobby held fast. 

"Is there any way this could wait, Hank." Bobby looked at Hank, willing him to understand what he meant.

"Research has proved that injuries from this type of encounter are best…" Hank's words trailed off as it finally dawned on him too. 

Hand didn't know for sure what had happened to Rogue, but he'd gotten the gist of it the injury itself, Gambit's accusations, Bobby's delicate phrasing and solemn, steadfast reaction, and Rogue's blunt and bitter refusal. 

"It could wait," Hank said, contrasting his previous statement, "Logan's healing factor probably left nothing to clue us in on what the injury exactly was."

"Hopefully," Bobby added.

Gambit, finding it hard to deal with the sudden and drastic change, fired up again, "Wait, what type o' encounter?"

Bobby rolled his eyes at Gambit and sighed. Now he was doing it. Denying the obvious, yet painful truth. Gambit had accused Bobby of similar acts and now he was acting like he had no idea what they were talking about. Bobby had even received a barrage of those insults after he'd awoken. But now that they were actually facing it, actually at the point of dealing with it, examining it, Gambit too was refusing to admit it.

"It don't matter anyway. It wasn't my memory. Ah don't even remember it now, so there's no point discussin' it." 

Rogue had spoken her words with surety. She wholeheartedly believed it. Bobby looked to Hank, who raised a brow in understanding.

"You can go," Hank said to Rogue.

"What?" Gambit said. "Why can she go? I have to stay and I wasn't bleeding all over de medlab." Remy approached Hank with a threatening stalk. "Non, she's staying. And not because I have to. You're going to check her out, make sure she's okay."

Rogue, seeing that this was getting her nowhere, that they would argue all night and into the next one if someone didn't put a stop to it, spoke up, "You can examine me in a couple of days, Hank. You were gonna do it anyway. What's one more test?"

"That is acceptable," Hank agreed.

Gambit looked from Hank to Rogue, then nodded. "Fine. But if y' even wince once, y' going straight to Hank."

"Fine, dad," Rogue said mockingly. She didn't see Bobby wince.

As she headed out of the medlab, clutching the not-so-modest examining gown closed behind her, Hank called out, "But you're remanded to bed rest. Skip the tests tomorrow. We'll see how you are the day after, and we'll continue from there."

Rogue rolled her eyes at him as the door closed behind her. Bobby went straight to Hank. Gambit went to his bed and started shuffling cards. Hank didn't even know where he got the cards.

"Maybe you should contact Cecilia or some other female doctor," Bobby suggested. "I'm sure Rogue trusts you, but she may be more open with another female."

"That is sound advice, Bobby. I will contact Cecilia immediately. I'm sure Rogue will appreciate your insight."

"Heh!" Gambit snorted quietly. "Hank's treating y' like de big hero, but y' still haven't told us exactly what happened, mon ami."

"And I'm not going to. If Rogue wants to tell you, fine, but I'm not going behind her back. It's her own private matter."

"Y' saying y' and Rogue are sharing somet'ing private?"

"God, Remy. Put a lid on the testosterone. It's private for Rogue, okay. Let's just say I think the memory _is_ hers. If she wants to share it with you, she will." With that Bobby left.

Remy continued flipping through his cards. Every few moments he sighed heavily and shifted restlessly to punctuate his boredom. Finally, Hank spun on him.

"Go to your room. Bed rest for twenty-four hours. Report here after Rogue is examined."

Gambit grinned mischievously and left.

****

~~~~~~~~~~~

"All the world just stopped now… I think there're pieces of me you've never seen. Maybe she's just pieces of me you've never seen. Well, all the world is all I am. The black of the blackest ocean and that tear in your hand. All the world is danglin', danglin', danglin' for me darlin'. You don't know the power you have with that tear in your hand." (Tear in Your Hand -by Tori Amos)

Several X-Men stopped at Rogue's door over the next twenty-four hours. They were all anxious, concerned and intrigued. "What happened to Rogue?" That was the buzz all over the mansion. Despite their worry for their friend, their teammate, their charge, Jean and the Professor refrained from glimpsing Rogue's thoughts even to ascertain her emotional state. Everyone who did attempt contact with Rogue received a similar response as the Cajun was getting right then. He never was one to listen to doctor's orders.

"Please, chere, talk to me." Gambit pleaded.

"Go away, Remy. Gawd, Ah just wanna be left alone." 

"Ma mignonne?" He nearly whimpered. It was rather pathetic.

He was answered with the thump of what he assumed was another stuffed animal being thrown against the door. Gambit sighed and left. He'd just try back again later_. _

She has to open her door sometime. She has to eat…

Later that night Bobby approached her door tentatively. He carried a tray of food and a request from Hank. He didn't bother knocking. He turned the knob, found it wasn't locked, and paused to announce his entrance. He couldn't just let her sulk in there forever. Besides, he wasn't going to question her. Just leave the food for her, do Hank's bidding, then leave. No questions.

"Rogue, I'm coming in. I've got food. You don't have to eat it, but I'm bringing it in anyway. And Hank…" 

He paused and listened. Rogue didn't holler at him like she'd done to everyone else. But, he heard quiet noises from her, nonetheless. He pushed the door open and entered. 

"I need to get the inhibitor from you. Hank wants to keep it in the medlab so that—" 

Rogue was crying. Her face was damp with tears like she'd been crying for a while. Her eyes were puffy and red. She was sitting on her bed, dressed in sweat pants and a T-shirt. She was still wearing the inhibitor collar. In her hands, damp with tears, but surprisingly not smeared, was a letter. On the bed in front of her were two envelopes. One was the envelope that Bobby had teased her with the previous day. He'd convinced himself that the episode that followed that teasing had nothing to do with the letter. He was getting the sneaky suspicion that there was a connection. The second envelope was smaller, and matched the size of the stationary Rogue held in her hand. On this second envelope was feminine handwriting in cursive. Upside down and from this distance, it looked like it said, simply, "Rogue."

Rogue raised her gaze to meet his and sobbed, painfully quietly, "Oh, Bobby…" Her lips parted to say more, but the words didn't seem to want to come out. She held the letter out to him. 

Bobby sat down the food tray on the dresser and moved to the bed. He took the letter from her, but paused before reading it.

"You sure?" He asked, giving her an out. He did not want to push her on this subject.

She nodded helplessly and watched him read it. It was from Destiny. The handwriting seemed to match that of the second envelope. It read:

__

Dearest Rogue,

I sympathize with your fear. Both of us do. We could never bring ourselves to push you in regards to that fear, to make you face it. Instead we pushed in other, perhaps more dangerous directions. It was as much for our plans as it was because we loved you. Never doubt that at least. We did it in spite of what nature and fate had intended for you.

That time is over.

It is time to explore. It is time to remember. It is time to rebuild. 

Love, Irenie

Bobby looked up from the letter to Rogue and was at a loss for words. He didn't quite get the connection.

"It was me, Bobby. Ah just know it." Her sobs began to choke her and he sat on the bed beside her.

"I know, Rogue, I know." 

He made no move to comfort her. He was just there if she wanted anything from him or anyone else. He was perfectly willing to go fetch Gambit or Storm if she wanted. He was surprised when she thrust her arms around him and clung. That was the only word for it. She clung to him. No, not to him, he realized. She just clung.

"Ah don't remember… But Ah think Ah have to…" she whispered so quietly he almost wasn't sure she admitted it. And her accent was so thick with her excess of emotion, he wasn't sure he'd heard her right. But that wasn't the point. All that mattered was that she said it. That she'd stop denying it. 

"…Don't stop now what you're doin', what you're doin' my ugly one. Bring them all here, hard to hide a hundred girls in your hair. It won't be fair if I hate her, if I ate her. You can go now, you can go now. You're already in there. I'll be wearing your tatoo. You're already in there. Got a cloud sleeping on my tongue. He goes and it goes and… Kiss the violets as they're waking up. Leave me with your Borneo. Leave me the way I was before…I'm already in circles and circles and circles again. The girl's in circles and circles—got to stop spinning—circles and circles again. Thought I was over the bridge now, over the bridge now. I'm already in there." (Cloud on My Tongue -by Tori Amos)

****

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

To be continued in Chapter 03 - Crazy

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

NOTES:

*Please remember that childish and extreme behavior differences are on purpose. The reason for it will be apparent shortly. 

****

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~


	3. Chapter 03 Crazy

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Seether

Chapter Three -- Crazy

By Randirogue

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

"And your hands are really shaking something awful as you light your twenty-seventh cigarette. Oh, how long have you been sitting in the darkness, you forget…" (Crazy Baby –by Joan Osborne)

Gambit was sitting in his usual brooding spot on the roof when he got the summons from Xavier to meet in the war room. He was going to go, just not yet.

He'd been there, in his brooding spot, all night. He couldn't sleep. How could he with what was going on with Rogue? 

And she won't even talk to me. Won't let me touch her. Well, dat's not new, but she won't let me near her now. And I just got her to be comfortable wit' being held wit'out flinching.

Gambit came out to the roof after being turned away for the twelfth time since they both had been released from the medlab. Nobody was able to determine what exactly had caused Rogue's situation. She hadn't been breathing, her heart had stopped, and she had been bleeding. When she was revived she'd refused to let Hank examine her. The incident had also gained her another power to add to her ever growing list of powers and a clutter of thoughts to accompany them. Bobby's powers. Bobby's thoughts. And they didn't terrorize her like Gambit's had. That thought made Gambit cringe. Despite the horrible image of Rogue near bleeding to death in the medlab, Gambit couldn't get the image of Bobby's lips on Rogue's out of his mind. It was just CPR. Why was he feeling so jealous? Over Bobby? They were just good friends. 

__

'Cause she let him hold her and didn't flinch. Correction. She held him. She reached out her arms to him. She wrapped her arms 'round him. She held him close. And her doing so didn't surprise Bobby one bit. He acted like she did it all the time. 

That was what Gambit witnessed the last time he went to check on Rogue. It had been late. It was after dinner. He'd followed Bobby when he saw him carrying the tray of food to the girls' dormitory. He'd intended on talking to Rogue if Bobby had any luck getting her to open the door. Gambit had been surprised when Bobby just opened the door and entered. Gambit didn't approve of that, and he knew Rogue wouldn't be happy about it either. He was about to storm in and say so when his empathy picked up the roil of emotion coming from both Bobby and Rogue. He felt it just before he peeked inside the opened door. 

It was a double stab to his chest. 

Rogue released her sadness and her fear onto Bobby, who accepted it with welcome. Gambit couldn't hear them from where he concealed himself just outside the door. But he watched. He watched her cry herself into exhaustion, nearly into sleep. He watched Bobby coax her back against her pillows and under her blankets. And then Gambit had left.

__

She was wearing de collar still. She hated de collars. Dey remind her of somet'ing she doesn't want to t'ink about. 

Gambit had asked the others about that. They didn't seem to mind talking about it. It had pretty much been common knowledge to everyone, the little they knew about it at least. Storm told him it was because of her being captured by the Genoshan Magistrates way back before Magneto had taken over the country, way back before Gambit joined the X-Men. Storm explained the whole thing to him. She told him that Wolverine and Rogue were imprisoned and stripped of their powers by Wipeout. The guards used the collars once they had them in the cells. Storm told Gambit that it had been Carol, in control of Rogue at the time, who had relayed the story to her. Carol had told Storm that Rogue let her take control of Rogue's body after some of the guards had gotten a little fresh with her. Gambit raised his brows to that.

"Li'l fresh?" He asked Storm with a mocking lilt to his voice. "Rogue be a stubborn girl. It take more'n dat to get Rogue to give Danvers control, non?"

Storm nodded in understanding and reassurance. "I assure you Carol was adamant about that, Remy." 

Storm had said it with such confidence, but still Gambit was not convinced. He spoke to Wolverine next.

Logan snorted angrily before responding to Gambit's questions. "Yeah," he'd admitted gruffly, "She had a few of their scents on her."

Gambit couldn't look Logan in the face when he asked the next question, "How far y' t'ink dey go?"

"Couldn't say for sure." Wolverine had replied resolutely. "Close quarters, the fighting and all. She had scents of other prisoners on her too by the time she got to me. Sex was there, but couldn't say if it was hers…" Wolverine snorted irritably at the memory, then straightened. "She seemed okay, though."

"Carol or Rogue?"

Logan was surprised then. Whether from the question or his answer, Gambit never knew. Logan took a moment before answering. 

"Both, I guess." He'd simply said.

Gambit thought it was weird that nobody knew the details… that nobody had ever asked. But, even Rogue had said that nothing serious had happened, so Gambit let it drop. Still, Rogue was terrified of the collars, though not as bad as Storm was of confined spaces. Her fear of the collars was enough to have disturbed Gambit when he saw that Rogue was still wearing it more than twenty-four hours after leaving the medlab and that she didn't seemed bothered by it in the least. He didn't believe she'd just forgotten she had it on.

Gambit put out the cigarette and headed for the war room. He wondered if Rogue would be there.

****

~~~~~~~~~~~

"…Oh you know you're getting really hard to be with. And you're crying every time you turn around. And you wonder why you cannot pick your head up off the ground…" (Crazy Baby –by Joan Osborne)

Rogue was woken by Xavier's voice over the comm badge. She checked the clock and groaned. It was ten in the morning, but she felt like she'd slept only an hour or two. Her body ached and she told herself it was from the ordeal that landed her in the medlab. Didn't matter that Logan's healing factor had taken care of her injuries from her episode. Didn't matter she was physically invulnerable. Although, she had the excuse of her powers being dampened to console that part. She just wouldn't let herself succumb to her emotional turmoil. So, she did not ache from crying herself to sleep. She convinced herself of that.

She sat up and felt the heavy weight of the collar around her neck and panicked. She scrambled to rip it off, but her super strength failed her. The collar was on and she didn't have her powers. 

__

Someone could touch me, touch me, touch me!

Tears dampened her cheeks. She collapsed her head into her hands. She hated herself for crying. She was stronger than that. And it was stupid, anyway. She was alone in her room. She was at home with the X-Men. Nobody here wanted to hurt her. Nobody here wanted to touch her. Well, maybe Gambit, but she'd had practice avoiding him.

She forced herself to regain control of herself. She took deep breaths until the panic eased to a dull buzz. She just had to take it off. Bobby had shown her how to do it before she fell asleep. She remembered it vaguely. She remembered him suggesting to take it off for her and that she had shrugged him off, murmuring something about wanting to feel normal for a little while. 

Somewhere in the back of her mind, she wondered why she hadn't taken it off before this. 

She took her time in the shower. She'd removed the collar first. She let her invulnerability deaden the sensation of the water running over her body to the point that she found it soothing enough to rinse away some of her tension. Enough, so that she could focus on preparing to face the others. That took a whole other type of tension. She couldn't let them see her like this. They never reacted well to it. No matter how much they cared about her as family or how much they wanted to help her or how much they trusted her to back them up in a fight, she couldn't let them see a chink in her mental fortitude. She never again wanted to deal with how they had treated her when Carol was in the habit of running things. She never again wanted them to doubt her. So, she took her time getting ready. She used that time to strengthen her armor. She had to make sure they saw their Mississippi Marauder/Southern Belle. She couldn't let them see all of her.

On her way to the War Room, she realized that she was missing her appointment to see Hank for further tests. Or at least she was postponing them. That was fine by her. 

She entered the War Room with a bounce to her step and a smile on her face. They were both genuine.

****

~~~~~~~~~~~

"…And they look at you like they don't speak your language. And you're living at the bottom of a well. And you swallow all the awful bloody secrets that you can't tell…" (Crazy Baby –by Joan Osborne)

The war room was filled with almost all the X-Men currently residing at the mansion. Extra chairs had been brought in to accommodate everyone. Gambit entered and quickly surveyed the room. Xavier was in his hoverchair at the head of the large conference table. On his right was Scott, then Jean, then Neal, Emma, Hank, Kurt, Warren, and Stacy X. On his left was Storm, then Bishop, then Wolverine. Farther down that side was Bobby, then Jono, then Sage. Gambit saw that there were two seats open between Bobby and Wolverine. He didn't want to sit by Bobby right then, but he really didn't want Rogue sitting next to Bobby either. He knew it was petty, but at the moment he didn't care.

Scott scowled at Gambit and said, "Glad you decided to join us."

"Wasn't doing much else," Gambit said. "So what's dis about? Magneto raise himself from de grave and t'reatening us… or dis about Rogue." Gambit glanced around the room, but nobody offered anything but sympathetic and concerned looks over Rogue. "She invited to dis li'l party or what?"

Xavier pursed his eyes closed in concentration. He opened them a moment longer and sighed heavily. 

"I cannot locate her in the mansion," Xavier said. He saw Gambit start to stand, his eyes flashing red with concern, and cut off Gambit's rash reaction, by continuing. "She is here, but she is not responding telepathically. I'm afraid she has become even more difficult to read since the additional control of her other powers, especially telepathy."

"She has eluded me as well," Emma stated with annoyance.

"I know what you mean," Jean said after failing to contact Rogue as well. "The only indication of her I can get is an empty space… a sort of void on the astral plane." She shook her head, both to dismiss her loss of an accurate description and the unsettling sensation she received from trying to scan for Rogue. She felt drained by the effort, but passed it off as emotional strain from the last few days, and continued, "Rogue is—"

"Here, so y'all can stop pestering me," Rogue said with cheerful mirth as she entered the room. 

All eyes snapped to her. Gambit felt their pity and concern for Rogue swell the room. His empathy also picked up her distaste for it. She looked at him, grinned mischievously, then clamped down on her personal shields, shutting him out. He not only stopped sensing her strong emotions with his empathy, but he didn't sense her with his spatial sense. It was like there was a hole where she had been. A void, like Jean had said. Though that wasn't right either.

Rogue ignored the pitying glances and blocked out their accompanying thoughts. Only Wolverine and Bobby's thoughts were bearable. She didn't feel as condemned or dejected by them. And Gambit, well, Gambit made her skin crawl and her heart race. He was worried about her. He felt helpless and rejected by her refusal of his comfort. He was also jealous_. _

Silly boy, she thought_. _

Worst of all, he was aroused by the mere sight of her. He couldn't help it. It was his strongest feeling toward her. She felt it in the empathy she'd gotten from him, so she turned it off, and she heard it echoed in his thoughts, so she turned off the telepathy. But, she also had a similar reaction to him and she couldn't stop that. And she was so torn on the subject. She feared it would distract her enough to reveal the chink in her façade. She did the only thing she could do at the moment. She shoved it as deep inside her as she could, shoved it into a hard little marble to be looked at later.

Funny thing is... she never remembered ever looking at those marbles after they were marbles.

Rogue looked pointedly at Xavier and said, "Ah'm in the mood for a good, scrape." She smiled wryly and added, "Don't disappoint me." 

Several X-Men gaped. Was she not technically dead a little more than twenty-four hours before?

Wolverine chuckled. He didn't even bother to hide it. "I'm with you, darlin'," he said.

Storm nodded once. She'd expected no less from Rogue. _She was a determined young woman,_ Storm admitted to herself proudly, _and she wouldn't let the disturbing incident overwhelm her._

Sage cocked her head to one side in consideration. It was obvious she was doing her thing as the living computer. She was recording and analyzing. Her face remained blank. But she was forming theories of her own.

Jean frowned, confused. She didn't like that she couldn't read Rogue at all. But more than that, she didn't like how Rogue bounced back. It wasn't healthy. She wasn't dealing with her problems. She was ignoring them. Jean shook her head. She couldn't even determine if that was true. Jean decided not to press the issue now, though. She would have time enough to figure Rogue out when she aided Hank with his tests on Rogue. It would just have to wait. 

Scott spoke, though his reaction was evident by his expression. "Let's not get ahead of ourselves, now, Rogue."

Bishop spoke next, "I agree with Rogue. I am eager to find out what the professor has called this meeting for."

"Not me. I was enjoying the break," Neal said.

"Tell me about it," Warren piped in.

"I don't think it would be wise for you to resume active duty right away, Rogue." That was Hank, of course.

"Ah"m fine," Rogue said as she crossed her arms. 

Gambit saw that she had something in her hand, but decided to hold his comments for the moment. Besides, if she felt up for missions, she had to be fine, and that pleased him. He didn't want to ruin that.

"I'm feeling restless myself," Stacy X said eagerly. 

"Everyone just settle down," Scott said. "We don't even know what this is about, yet." 

Rogue stepped forward, away from the door, for the first time since she entered. The doors closed automatically behind her. 

"Oh, Ah got an idea, Cyke," she said as she approached the table. 

She avoided Gambit and the empty chair. She went between Wolverine and Bishop, feeling more inclined to them at the moment, and tossed the object she'd been holding onto the table in front of Kurt. The metal on metal clang reverberated throughout the suddenly quiet and confused room. It sounded like a quarter spinning to a stop. Everyone looked at the suppression collar that came to a stop then to Rogue. 

Kurt lowered his head. 

Rogue stepped back and crossed her arms again. "Spit it out, Kurt. Where'd ya get it?"

"Muir Island was cleaned out," Kurt said with his still bowed. "There was nothing… I tried to tell you."

"It is all right, Kurt," Xavier said, bringing the attention to him.

Gambit tapped a playing card on the table. No one saw him draw it, but they all heard the quickening tap-tap, tap-tap, tap-tap. Wolverine noticed that it matched Gambit's increased heart rate. He also noticed that Gambit was repeating something under his breath. It was so quiet, even Wolverine couldn't make out exactly what it was. The Cajun suspected something, and Wolverine knew that wasn't good news.

"Who gave it to ya?" Rogue pressed.

Kurt looked up at Rogue then. His face was filled with shame and worry. "You will not like it, schweister."

The tap-tap sped up.

"Where, then?" Rogue asked. She was getting tired of the twenty questions. She wanted to pound some heads and the longer they beat around the bush, the longer she'd have to wait. 

Kurt looked down again. "Genosha," he said quietly, but everyone had heard. 

The room erupted in conversation. SNIKT! The signal of Logan releasing his claws was loud, but was lost in the other clamor that had suddenly arose. Only three people remained quiet. One was Xavier, who was allowing everyone his or her immediate reaction and was waiting it out before getting to his point. The second was Gambit, whose heart had skipped a beat and was returning to normal. He'd stopped tapping the card. An expression of relief settled into his face. He wasn't happy with Kurt's answer, but it was better than what he'd thought. The third was Kurt. He was practically cringing.

After a few minutes, Xavier spoke up. "That is not all," he said and the room quieted down quickly. He turned to Kurt. "Would you like me to finish?"

"Nien. I will tell it." 

Kurt stole a glance at Rogue, then addressed the assembled team. The memory of the carnage still present in Genosha after what Cassandra Nova had done rose unbidden. He tried to blink it away. 

"I did not find one right away, mien gotts. I was about to leave…"

The memory of just two days before washed over him as he retold his tale. He'd arrived in Hammer Bay and had gone directly to Magneto's Citadel. The death and destruction was overwhelming. But worse was the lack of bodies. The UN had quarantined the island, declared it too expensive to clean up. They wouldn't assign it another leader, another government, and no one volunteered to take the responsibility of it. Always, under all the talks about the island were the whispers of what if "HE" came back. And so, the nation was simply written off. Besides, there were no inhabitants, other than the decaying bodies of its former citizens. Only, they're weren't that many bodies, Kurt had realized. He'd pushed it out of his mind as he ported inside the citadel. He had to get a collar for Rogue; Rogue was dying. 

Inside the citadel it was quiet. He felt an itch between his shoulder blades, the anticipatory knife in the back. He ignored it as best as he could and concentrated on finding a collar. All around him he heard concrete and metal shifting. He surmised that the ruined citadel was ready to come down on him. Then he heard voices.

"Shit! He's breathing!" said a male voice. It sounded familiar, but Kurt couldn't place it. It must've been a very long time since he'd heard it.

"You're seeing things," said another male voice, "Ain't no way anyone lived through that."

Kurt found the room the voices were coming from. He peaked around the corner, but couldn't see who was speaking. He scanned the room and sure enough, spilling from a decimated cabinet on the near wall, were dozens of collars. Most were scorched or shattered, but some looked in tact. He had to get to them. He was about to port in, when he heard the men shifting something large just on the other side of the opened door. Kurt reeled back out of sight. They weren't more than ten feet away from him. They had just been blocked from his sight by the door that was half hanging on its hinges, partially being held up by a fallen column.

"He moved. I saw it. He just moved. Look," one of the men had said.

"Dammit, Riptide," the other one said.

In the War Room, listening to Nightcrawler's story, Gambit's heart sunk. He knew it. He KNEW it. 

The room erupted with conversation again. "Sinister," was hissed by more than one person. Accusatory eyes leapt to Gambit. Rogue stayed quiet and kept her attention on Kurt. Finally, it quieted enough for Kurt to continue his story. 

On Genosha, Nightcrawler listened to the two Marauders speaking. He was elated that someone had survived the destruction, had lived this long, probably without food and water. Or maybe it was someone who'd been trapped by the collapsing citadel just within the last day or so. Either way, now he had two agendas. He had to rescue whomever Riptide and his fellow Marauder had found and he had to secure a working collar for Rogue.

Kurt heard a beep that he assumed was the activation of some sort of communications unit. The second male's voice, a man he now recognized as Scalphunter spoke. 

"Sinister, we got a live one here," Scalphunter said.

A moment passed, then finally Sinister answered, "Interesting. You're in the infirmary on level two, correct?"

"Yeah, but…"

"I'll be there in a moment."

"But, sir. It's HIM."

A long pause followed. Kurt didn't think Sinister was going to answer, but he didn't have time to worry about it. He wouldn't have long until Sinister got there no matter where he was coming from. Sinister always had use of some sort of portal that the X-Men could never figure out. He had to act immediately. He hoped he wouldn't port into some chunk of the wall he couldn't see, but he didn't dwell on that idea. He didn't have time too. 

Kurt ported behind Scalphunter just as Sinister answered through the comm link.

"Excellent," Sinister said. "And Scalphunter, Riptide? Do not hurt Nightcrawler too badly. I would like to have a word with him."

Kurt's kick to the small of Scalphunter's back cut off Scalphunter's answer to Sinister. Then Riptide landed a blow on Kurt from behind. Kurt didn't know what it was exactly that hit him, but it wasn't Riptide's mutant power. There was no accompanying wind, nor were there projectiles hitting him or the debris or wall beyond. He didn't have the chance to find out, either. 

The blow landed him on the ground face first. For some reason, he couldn't move, but, from his position he could now see the face of the survivor that Riptide and Scalphunter had discovered. It was Magneto. The Master of Magnetism blinked.

In the War Room, a low menacing growl resonated from Logan. Bobby and Gambit both noticed Rogue go very still and watched her expression become very, very neutral. Emma, on the other hand, seemed lively and impressed. 

"He was on life support in the infirmary at the time that Cassandra Nova had attacked," Emma said. She turned her steely gaze to Wolverine. "He was recovering from three holes in his chest."

On Genosha, in Nightcrawler's rendition, Scalphunter hauled the paralyzed Nightcrawler to his feet and supported him to face Sinister as he materialized in front of them.

"Afternoon, Nightcrawler," Sinister said. "To what do I owe this honor?" 

Nightcrawler did not reply. He did not even try. He assumed since the rest of him couldn't move, neither would his mouth.

"Come, come, Kurt. How is your extended family? The Professor doing well?" 

Sinister stepped closer to Kurt. 

"What about Scott and Jean?" 

He grasped Kurt's chin with his thumb and forefinger and lifted it. Kurt was forced to look him in the eyes. 

"And Gambit? Rogue did rescue him from the energy beam, of course?" 

Sinister leaned in real close to Kurt's face. Kurt felt himself blink. He was gaining movement. 

"How is Mystique's protégé, your adoptive-sister, Rogue?" 

Kurt blanched. He frantically wondered, _Did he know? Could he know?_

Sinister's smile broadened. He let go of Kurt and turned away as he said, "Well? That is your reason for trespassing here, is it not?"

Debris moved behind Nightcrawler, in Magneto's direction. Both Riptide and Scalphunter turned. Kurt took advantage of the distraction and kicked back with all of his slowly returning strength. It connected squarely with Scalphunter's kneecap and dropped Kurt. Free, Kurt teleported out of the way, just in time to get out of the way of Magneto's attack. Magneto was weak, but he made a good show of it. Kurt took cover behind a fallen pillar as debris flew in all directions. He had never been so happy to see Magneto so angry.

"It is you who are the trespasser, monster!" Magneto bellowed. 

Magneto floated toward Sinister from behind. Sinister had moved to the other side of the room, passing Kurt along the way. Kurt didn't see where Scalphunter and Riptide went to, so he stayed pressed against the pillar and watched Magneto. Kurt was surprised to see that Sinister was ignoring Magneto as he picked through the pile of suppression collars.

"What are you doing here?" Magneto bellowed, still slowly floating toward Sinister. He was a sight to see. All contained rage, he radiated command and control like Xavier radiated intelligence. "What is your interest in the gene-traitor?" Kurt could have sworn that the Master of Magnetism trembled for an instant—that his anger grew just a little—when he asked, "With Rogue?"

Sinister did turn around to face both Magneto and Kurt then. He had a sardonic grin and held two suppression collars in his hands. "My plans for the lovers—" 

Sinister was cut off briefly as Magneto, who probably suspected that Sinister intended the collars for Kurt and him, Kurt guessed, tore the collars from Sinister's grasp with his magnetic powers.

"Nien!" Kurt yelled at Magneto just before he ported to where the collars where thrown.

Sinister laughed. "Temper, temper, Magnus." 

Magneto let Kurt have the collars. He didn't know what was going on here, why Kurt would want those damned things so badly, but he could have them. For the moment. Magneto's mind briefly reflected back to Antartica, to when he had imprisoned the small group of X-Men, suppressed their powers, and held that trial. He only allowed the memory a moment before shaking his head and concentrating on the monster in front of him. He would worry about Gambit and the others later; right then he had worse things to deal with.

Kurt caught the collars just before they crashed into the wall and were possibly destroyed. He didn't know if they were even operable, if any of them were operable, but he didn't want to take the chance. 

"Gott in Himmel God in heaven/skies, Magnus!" Kurt cursed as he ported back near Magneto. He didn't want to be too near Sinister for too long. Magneto was definitely the lesser evil at the moment. "Do you care so little for your friends?" He yelled at Magnus, who was decidedly confused at Kurt's reaction. "You did consider her your friend once, right?"

"What are you going on about?" Magneto asked Kurt with exasperation. He was quickly losing whatever patience he had left.

Kurt did not get the chance to answer because Sinister spoke. "Enough of this," Sinister said. "Take those, Nightcrawler. They will serve your purposes," he paused and added silently to himself, _And mine as well_.

Kurt held the collars up before Magneto and asked, quietly, as if afraid of the answer, "Can you tell if they work?" Kurt's plea was as evident in his expression as it was in his voice.

Magneto looked Kurt over, then glanced to Sinister, not trusting him. Sinister shrugged. Magneto reached out with his powers to the collars and felt them. After a moment, he opened eyes and nodded to Kurt. "They are operable. They are… slightly off, perhaps damaged or –-" he flicked his eyes to Sinister, then back to Kurt "— altered, but they work as intended."

Kurt nodded in appreciation and made to port away, but Sinister raised a hand to stop him. Amusement infused Sinister's features as he spoke to Kurt his warning. "Keep Rogue well, Nightcrawler. I'll be watching should she finally figure herself out… and Gambit and Scott and Jean, as well."

Kurt ported away then. He did not see what transpired between Magneto and Sinister afterwards.

In the War Room, everyone was quiet for a moment after Kurt finished his story. Hank was the first to make any significant movement or sound. He picked up the collar and looked it over as he said, "I will begin tests on this and the other one immediately."

Gambit was next. He spoke quietly, resuming his angry tap-tapping of the playing card, "How could y' put Rogue at risk like dat, mon ami?"

"Hush, Cajun. He tried to tell us." That was from Wolverine.

"Did you notice any strange side effects from the collar, Rogue," Xavier asked calmly.

"Only that Ah didn't mind that Ah was wearing it," Rogue answered nonplused.

"Oh, dear," Hank exclaimed quietly.

"Ah plumb forgot Ah had it on, actually, 'til Ah woke up this morning," Rogue said.

"But was that because of the collar itself, or was that just you," Storm said. Rogue glared at her. "You did have a traumatizing few days. Your mind may have just been elsewhere."

"It'd take more than a might distraction—"

Several brows rose with those two words. _Did she consider nearly dying merely a might distraction?_

"—to make me forget Ah had one of those things on me, Storm." Her words were very precise, very angry, and laced with sarcasm. _You know that,_ hung unspoken, but recognized by many there.

"Let's not jump to any conclusions," Xavier said, sensing the trembling tension that filled the room. "Henry will evaluate the devices and will report his findings."

"I would like to look at them as well," spoke up Sage. Xavier simply nodded in response.

"But what about Sinister," Warren said, glaring at Gambit, "We've effectively let him inside the mansion by bringing those things in here. Who knows what kind or sensors they have?" 

The accusation against Gambit was palpable in Warren's voice. Gambit's eyes blazed with anger, the card in his hand glowed slightly, then simmered out.

"And Magneto too," Logan growled.

"It appears that Sinister didn't need the collars to spy on us, Warren," said Scott. This surprised Gambit. He didn't expect ol' one-eye to come to his defense.

"He knew what Kurt wanted. He knew what it was for. He insinuated that he knew why, maybe more than we do. He's already watching us with some other means," Jean said.

Gambit spoke with sadness in his voice, "He always does."

"I wonder what he was doing in Genosha in the first place," Storm said.

"And what happened between him and Mags after fuzzy elf high tailed it out of there," added Logan.

Bobby, who had been quiet, an unusual feat for him, but one that had become quite common since Rogue's episode, finally spoke. "We're missing the real point here," he said. 

Everyone turned to look at him. Anticipation hung in the air, so did the expectancy for some inappropriate joke from him. Bobby almost winced from that, but he continued despite it, and asked, "What did he mean by 'Rogue figuring herself out'?" 

Most of the X-Men who'd known him for so long were astonished or thoughtful, like he'd made a point they had indeed overlooked.

"He has never shown an interest in her before," Xavier admitted. 

"Why now?" Bobby asked.

"It could be the evolution of her powers after Z'Cann," Hank offered.

"Perhaps," Xavier said. He was obviously considering the matter very seriously. "But that was a while ago and he had made no moves toward Rogue."

"Because he's still waiting," Bobby said and the others looked at him like he'd grown a second head. "He said 'He will be watching.' Will be. Future tense. Whatever he wants out of Rogue hasn't surfaced yet."

"So he's a pre-cog now too?" Logan huffed.

"No, he's not interested in t'ings like dat," Gambit admitted. 

A part of Remy was actually glad that his experiences with Essex could be helpful. Scott and Jean had a limited involvement with the man, an involvement that had always centered on them. They had no clue how Essex worked on the overall. Beyond all his experimenting, his theories, his efforts to cleanse the mutant genetic stream, to build a better mutant, that was what motivated him. He was all about research, about studying. His theories and all that were an endgame, a prize, and it was always changing. That's what the others didn't realize. It was the research that drove him. That's where it always started—with the research, not the theory.

"And what exactly is he interested in, Gambit," Warren asked, eyes narrowing on Gambit. "Would you care to enlighten us?"

"Research," Scott answered for Gambit, surprising the Cajun momentarily.

"Oui," Gambit simply answered.

"But he doesn't have anything of me to research," Rogue said. "He's never held me in one of his labs. He ain't never stuck a needle in me. And it ain't like Ah go around leaving blood trails."

"Maybe he just wants to rustle our feathers," Logan suggested.

"No," Gambit said.

"Gambit's right," Scott said. "Sinister doesn't care about politics. He doesn't care about enemies. Science doesn't have enemies. It just is."

"He got his own theories about Rogue. Somet'ing he couldn't get on his own. Somet'ing he's had to wait for. And whatever he wants he's getting impatient for it."

"Ya'll are crazy," Rogue said, dragging the attention back to her. "What could he possibly want from me. My powers ain't never been of interest to anyone. Even with Mystique, she was more interested in training me for espionage, than having me suck the thoughts and powers out of people. That was always a last resort. So, what does he care about me? He wants to make me his super soldier? Fill me with dozens of powers? Ah already have that. And it ain't like Ah'm ever going to work for him willingly. What's he going to do? Tempt me with control of my powers? Ah never wanted that bad enough. Ah came to terms with that a long time ago." 

Gambit winced.

Rogue felt the urge to placate him, but bit her tongue. He would just have to understand on his own. Rogue didn't mean anything about him with her comment about working for Sinister. He would just have to trust that she didn't hold that against him. She didn't consider that Gambit's reaction was about her blanket-acceptance of never being able to touch. To him, her acceptance of that meant that she had given up on ever trying to control them, on ever being able to choose whether she absorbed someone with her touch or not. It meant that she'd given up on intimacy. And that, Gambit didn't want to admit to.

"Ah'm not even in the class of powers he's interested in," Rogue continued. "Sure Ah've acquired access to Gambit's and Jean's and Scott's powers, but is that enough. Ah'm nowhere near as powerful with them as ya'll are." 

Rogue took a deep breath. All this business with Sinister and his experiments was giving her a headache. It didn't seem like she was convincing anyone that she had nothing to offer Sinister that she couldn't have offered him before. In fact, most of them seemed to be annoyed by her excuses. Their expressions seemed almost accusing her that her recent episode factors in to what Sinister wants, like she's hiding something from them. If she is, she's as much in the dark about it as they are.

Rogue sighed. "Look ya'll. He isn't interested in me. He just isn't. Think about it. He had plenty of opportunities to capture me and he hasn't. My powers haven't changed in any way that he couldn't have forced on me on his own. All he had to do was strap me down and make me absorb some mutants permanently. Not like he care if he killed someone in the process. Heck, he'd probably have some way to inject their genes right into my bloodstream or something scientific like that."

"Your arguments are sound, Rogue," Storm admitted. "But his actions with the collars, and his blatant statement to Nightcrawler suggest otherwise."

"We must be missing something," Wolverine said.

"But what?" Hank said. "Let's think about this rationally. What Rogue says is true. The only people he's shown interest in he's collected genetic material from. He's got tissue samples from Scott when he was an orphan, from Jean when she was in stasis on the moon. It wasn't until after he had those samples that he'd shown an interest in them. But to my knowledge he has never acquired such things from Rogue, nor has he ever sought to."

"What if he didn't need to?" Emma asked. 

Jean was startled by Emma's question. It was obvious that it reminded her of something. 

"What if he had some other sort of evidence?" Emma shared a knowing look with Jean.

Jean then looked pointedly at Storm and then at Scott. "Yes. What if he had a more personal example?"

"Not'ing more personal den blood, n'est-ce pas?"

"Except being in your mind," Rogue said quietly. The memory arose with the realization. It made her shiver. She shoved it back deep inside. She didn't want to remember that. She could talk about it, but she didn't want to relive it.

"Wait," Gambit said, standing abruptly. "Essex be a lot of t'ings, but he isn't a telepat'. How he be in your head?"

"He does have his ways, Gambit," Bishop said. "He read memories I couldn't even access when he captured us after we stopped that train [1]."

"But dat took de use o' his lab. You all said Rogue's never been stuck in one of his labs."

"Ah absorbed him once." Rogue said guiltily. "He took over me. He was worse than Carol. He had complete control all at once [2]."

"Could he have discovered something you don't even know about?" Scott asked Rogue.

"How the hell should Ah know what he saw," Rogue spat defensively, "Ah was shoved so far inside that Ah hardly knew Ah was in there at all."

"Could he have planted something inside you?" Xavier asked tentatively. He didn't want to give the impression that Rogue was a spy for him, unknowingly or otherwise. But he had to cover that possibility, as hurtful as it may be.

Bishop picked up on it as well and he looked at Rogue with new eyes. His mind reeled back to the transmission he'd found before he'd come to this time. It had been very similar to the one that Jean had left during the Onslaught incident, but with pieces missing as it was, it could've been from something else. Jean had said, "powers negated." And that essentially it was what happened when Rogue touched someone and stole his powers. It could explain why Gambit was the last to see the X-Men alive. It could explain why the witness would never tell. He and Rogue were involved.

"Ah see those thoughts churning in your head, Bishop. You can forget all about them. He isn't in here," she said as she tapped her temple. She wasn't defensive at all. She was just certain. "Ah may not be aware of all the memories in my head…"

She was halted as she heard all the thoughts about her recent episode from everyone at the table. She felt all their pity for her and worse, their disbelief in her mental health, but she clamped down tighter on her shields and continued.

"…But Ah have access to all the powers of all those that are there, mutant or not. And Ah don't have access to him. The Seige Perilous got rid of what was left of him when it got rid of Carol for good. And Ah've never touched him since. He's gone. And thank gawd for that," Rogue said with a curt laugh. "Could ya'll just imagine that. Grey skin like the dead and a red diamond in my forehead. It just isn't my style." 

Storm actually laughed at that. The others looked at her like she was speaking another language, like she was living at the bottom of the well. What did it matter if she had taken on his appearance? That would have been the least of their worries. Everything about her episode and how she had openly behaved following it was bewildering to them. 

Bishop grunted, interrupting the uncomfortable silence. "So what are we going to do about all this. Are we going to stop him from spying on us? Are we going to confront him?" 

"And what about Magneto?" Logan snapped. "Do we just ignore him after all he's done?"

"I don't think there's anything we can do about it right now," Xavier said. "Sinister is obviously using means that we are unable to detect. Perhaps Hank will discover something in the collars to help that, but more than likely Sinister covered that basis."

"And Magneto," Scott asked before Wolverine could continue on that tirade. He didn't want to let the easily agitated mutant's bias control that topic.

"There's nothing we can do about him either," Xavier said, soliciting a growl from Logan. "We are not going to track him down and kill him. And from what Kurt relayed to us, he doesn't seem to be posing any kind of danger at the moment. He seems to be the only survivor of Genosha. It will take him time to build up his resources."

"What if Sinister took him?" Rogue asked in a very carefully neutral voice.

Gambit went still with her question. He never liked her continued affection for Magnus. He didn't know if she was still attracted to him or how much she still cared for him. 

__

She still feeling obligated to him for saving her in de savage land? Dat was a long time ago. And he left her in de end. He made his choice and he's always stuck to it. He may not strike to kill her, but he doesn't hesitate to fight her, oui?

"You still care what happens to him?" Logan asked angrily. "Even after that farce of a trial, you're still defending him?"

"Not that at all, Wolvie," Rogue said with a mischievous grin, "Ah want my own pound of flesh for that one, sugah. But ah may not ever get it if Sinister's got his claws in him."

Wolverine grunted in approval. "I hear that."

"I do not agree with Rogue's reasons," Storm said, "But she does make a point. If Sinister does have Magneto, it could be disastrous."

Xavier nodded. "This is true. And disconcerting. Perhaps a recon mission to Genosha is in order. We will discuss this later, though. Right now our priorities are dependent on what Hank discovers about the collars. You will contact me as soon as you have made some significant headway?"

Hank nodded.

"Very good, then," Xavier said.

Recognizing the dismissal, the X-Men excused themselves and scattered throughout the mansion to deal with this newly realized threat in their own ways.

****

~~~~~~~~~~~

"…Oh you know you ought to get yourself together. But, you cannot bear to walk outside your door. No you cannot bear to look into the mirror anymore…" (Crazy Baby –by Joan Osborne)

Rogue interacted with the others on a tertiary level. 

__

Using the big words now, Sugar. See what kind of influence you're having with me, she said to the myriad of ghosts inside her head. 

She interacted with these ghosts much in the way that she interacted with the X-Men. She always had a portion of her concentration dedicated to her shields, specifically to the tacky web that wrapped her deepest thoughts, her Core, as she'd named it. She always added more to the web every time she added a thought inside it. Lately, though, she found strands that stretched across the expanse of her mind. Several were stretching from the web loosely constructed around the area of her mind that was the basis of her absorption powers. The web she'd built there was a conscious connection to her mind's active awareness. It's how she taught her herself to always cover up, by covering up the source of her absorption inside her mindscape as well as outside it. The web there had strands that linked to all the ghosts inside her mind. The physical representation of this area was a dark corner of her mindscape that was cropped off with a web that kept her absorption powers corralled behind it. The effect was rather contradicting, not so unlike Rogue herself. It sort of looked like an intricate Victorian latticework window on a toxic waste storage unit. Rogue simply called it her Closet. 

She had always been careful to keep that separated from the heavily shielded core, though. There would always be one or two strands connecting the two. There was no way around that. The entire sequence of web shielding was initiated at the Core. She had no way of separating them. And despite Xavier and Jean's instruction, she'd never been able to build shields of anything other than the web. She knew it was dangerous for those two things to mingle. That idea was connected to the loose binding of the Closet as well. And with those strands of web that represented that idea, she'd been able to monitor the mingling between the shielding of the two shielded areas of her mind.

She stroked one of the several strands that had formed between the two areas. It sent tingling sensations throughout all of her. She didn't like that. It was dangerous. It made her think of the possibility of more control and she knew that wasn't possible. In the past when she had tried to strengthen the webbed shields of the Closet, all she managed to do was create more strands that linked to the memory Core. And that was dangerous, so she had just stopped. But now, there were more strands linking the two areas than ever before. She didn't remember them forming and not remembering scared her as much as their discovery did. 

__

No use fretting over it though, Sugar. Just sever them and reinforce the Core some more. You've done it a hundred times, if you've done it once, she reminded herself.

Rogue settled herself in her room for the private ritual. She felt compelled to be more formal about it than usual. She used to just look inside herself, pluck away the strands, and continue on her way. She done it so much, she didn't even have to concentrate that much. She wouldn't have done it in the middle of a fight, but she could do it while eating, or talking, or even while flying—all without skipping a beat. This time though, she admitted the necessity of a concentration she hadn't exerted since before she'd joined the X-Men. She admitted she'd gotten lazy and that now she was facing the consequences.

To keep out all distractions, she sealed up anything that could be an doorway, even superstitious doorways like glass and mirrors. She locked her bedroom door. She even closed her closet door and the door leading to her half-bathroom. Next, she covered up her full-length mirror on the back of the door. Then she covered the mirror on her dresser. She closed her drapes and added a second covering to secure the double threat of the window. Then she checked under her furniture, all of it. She looked under her bed, her night stand, both chairs, her desk, and her two dressers. She didn't really think there was anything under there. She used the act as a buffer to checking out all the easily dismissed shadows in her head. 

Even after all this time, a lot of the ghosts in her head weren't too friendly, let alone forgiving. Some of them had gotten more uppity since she'd started being able to access their powers by her own will. Doing so had made them more hers. She could almost feel how the use of them caused the genetic signature of them to graft more solidly onto her own DNA. It was a strange sensation, similar to the one she felt when she stroked the strands that linked the Core, the Closet, the ghosts, and the outer defenses. She still didn't know what to make of the strands that seemed to be randomly stretching the expanse of her mind. She guessed that there was a connection between them and the other powers taking deeper root in her own genetic structure, but it was still too early to be sure. 

Rogue sighed and seated herself comfortably on her bed. She hated that aspect of herself. So much of her shields and her powers and her mind in general were a learn-a-little-at-a-time-as-you-go sort of thing. It always seemed to be changing, growing, shifting. That's what Hank and the Professor never seemed to understand. She was constantly damning herself, in more ways than one, constantly suppressing her absorption power as much as she was suppressing the urge to use it and the clatter of ghostly people inside of her mind. Absorption powers, she absently corrected herself. There was more than one. There was more than just the seething another person's consciousness or that person's memories or that person's abilities or that person's energy or that person's genetic structure. She cut herself off there. 

__

Time to get to work, she reminded herself.

****

~~~~~~~~~~~

"…And your hands are really shaking something awful as your worries crawl around inside your clothes. Oh, how long will you be sitting in the darkness, heaven knows…" (Crazy Baby –by Joan Osborne)

__

Ah failed. A thing as simple as that and Ah couldn't do it.

Sobs wracked her body with unshed tears. Not crying? Well, that much she would control. Her hands shook uncontrollably, the finest tremor. It stole away all her strength. All that powerful strength. Her limbs felt like wet noodles. Her chest hurt with the repeated sharp intakes of breath. Her head was pounding. All she could manage to contain was the unbidden release of all those myriad of powers that were now hers to access at will. Her depleted strength could hardly contain them. Finally, too weak to do it all, she had to let the tears flow.

She'd spent hours tugging on the straying strands of her webbed shields. She started with the simplest parts first: the strands that stretched from Closet and across the expanse of her mind. She felt the pull all the way inside the Core, and she shouldn't have. Worse, she felt the strands defend themselves. They reinforced themselves. They thickened, became tackier, and lengthened. It even felt like they breached the confines of her mind. She felt them in her chest. She felt them in her limbs. Finally, after a long while, she stopped tugging on them. 

__

Better leave those stubborn suckers alone for now. Probably acting up because of the other problem. Deal with that one, then come back to this one.

Problem was, this one, the Closet problem, was the easier one. And when she moved onto the more difficult problem, the Core, she realized that the defensive reinforcement wasn't isolated to those from the Closet. There were even more strands linking the Core and the Closet. At least a hundred or two, she'd guessed. And they were thick, no, not just thick, they were like rope. The strands were no longer individuals. Several strands coiled and twisted around each other forming tacky, silky ropes. And there were at least a hundred or two of these ropes. 

She tugged and tugged on the ropes. Each tug shot spikes of pain through her and worse, waves of euphoria. One sensation rode the other, rippling across the ropes throughout the entire web system until it crescendoed in her toes. And like with her attack on the other strands, there were repercussions for the attack on these ropes. They multiplied, thickened, strengthened and became tackier. Again. The strands were not strands anymore, anywhere. All there was now was ropes. Thick, knotted ropes connected all of her. 

That's when the fatigue started in. She felt the other powers creeping to the surface. She was losing her hard won control over them. She had to leave the web and concentrate on her imprinted powers. She was thankful that they came from the ghosts. She was thankful that the ghosts were still only connected to the Closet by the thinnest, most delicate ropes. But, by the time she'd wrestled control over the other powers, the fatigue had settled into her bones. She stretched out a tentative touch to the core. It shivered under her touch, caressing her in return. She gasped.

__

What's happening to me?

To her surprise, she got an answer. 

**__**

"Yoah healin', Rogue," the Core of her told her. At least it felt like it came from the Core. 

The formation and protection of the Core was the construct of a young child, years before the absorption of Cody. Rogue existed before that particular manifestation of power. That onset had only confirmed to Rogue, what she had already feared, but refused to accept. Touch was painful, and had to be forbidden.

Rogue, outside the Core, noticed the ghostly wisps, like a shimmering mist, that escaped the thinning webbing that wrapped around the core. _"Ah see ya. Come on out of there. Let me see which ghost you are."_

The wisp swirled and shimmered as it escaped the confines of the web. **_"Ah'm no ghost, Sugah. Ah'm not a who at all."_**

__

"What are ya then?"

**__**

"The clouds gathered in a spider web purse."

Rogue recognized the phrase from her childhood. _Memories are clouds gathered in a spider web purse_. 

"Ya're my memories?"

**__**

"Yes."

__

"Well, Ah'm used to dealing with strange memories, but you feel different. You're kinda giving me the willies here."

**__**

"Yoah used to dealing with other people's memories, Rogue. Ya ain't like other people, other mutants. Yoah memories are different, more palpable than others' memories."

__

"Sure, whatever ya say." It was licked with sarcasm.

**__**

"It's time to remember. It's time to deal. It's time figure it all out." The Core quivered as it formed another rope between it and the webbing of the Closet. **_"We must have Union."_**

The word reverberated through her and she remembered the smallest tid-bit of something. It reminded her of something from the Ghostbusters movie. One character had told another character that it was too dangerous to ever cross the streams. Later, they had to cross the streams to survive, to save them all. The reference wasn't accurate, but the movie had always struck a disconcerted chord in her. It had always made her shiver, like when someone blew across the nape of her neck, like when Gambit blew across the nape of her neck. For the first time, since before Cody, and even earlier, before anyone called her Rogue, she sensed truth. She recognized the connection between the Core and the Closet. The Closet never contained her power-basis like she thought. It contained her absorption powers, true. But her real power basis, the stem of it all, had always been trapped inside the Core. The other thing was just one aspect, the piece that manifested with Cody. The rest, the part that was in the Core, had submerged from latency inside the Core. It had been sealed off all this time, and now it wanted to cross streams with the rest. It wanted Union.

__

"No, not yet," Rogue sobbed, sharp breaths wracking her body. 

It was only a piece she was remembering, just one escaped wisp of the cloud. This piece hurt. It hurt worse than anything she'd ever endured. It was worse than being without powers in a Genoshan Magistrate's cell. It hurt more then all of Gambit's memories. It hurt worse than Eric the Red, no, Erik Lensherr's mind raping her for those memories at the trial. It hurt worse than leaving Remy in the Antarctic. It hurt so much and it was just a piece.

**__**

"Soon."

"Oh my Gawd," Rogue cried, too tired to hold back the tears. "Ah can't do this. Ah can't. Ah'll go crazy. Ah know it."

****

~~~~~~~~~~~

"…Oh, my crazy baby. Try to hold on tight. Oh, my crazy baby. Don't put out the light…" (Crazy Baby –by Joan Osborne)

It wasn't very late and the X-Men were relaxing and enjoying themselves in various ways all over the grounds. And some of them, like Gambit and Wolverine, did so off the grounds. Their distance made them among the last to feel the fatigue creep in on them. Wolverine felt it just before Gambit did. His catch had been more recently reinforced. The most recent of all actually. But his distance and his healing factor had kept him from feeling it so quickly or so deeply.

Several X-Men felt nothing at all. They had no catch to soak them in fatigue and drain away their strength. Some of them included Neal, Sage, Hank, Stacy X and Jono. They felt nothing and noticed nothing about the catch in the others. To them it appeared as though their companions had simply grown sleepy a little earlier than usual. These X-Men felt the catch in differing levels for a variety of reasons. Some of them, like Jean and Xavier, and perhaps even Gambit had he been close enough, could have picked up on the catch if they had ever known it was there. But they were not yet aware. They had theories, nothing more. Besides, they were so tired, _and wouldn't it be nice to get ready for bed. It's only a couple hours early._

Bobby felt it first. Other than Logan, he'd been the most recent to have the catch. He was a lot nearer than Logan was and he didn't have a healing factor to protect him. But Bobby's catch was very weak. It had only been his first contact with the catch and it had been brief and weak due to the weakened state of Rogue at the time that the catch had been formed. He had been on his way to Rogue's room when he felt it. He had rented a few movies and carried a bowl of popcorn. He was going to invite her down to join him and some others in the rec room for the movie. When Rogue opened the door for him, he saw she was crying. And with the catch and her tears, he decided to offer to watch the movies in her room if she didn't feel like facing the others.

"Ah'd like that Bobby," Rogue had said shamefully.

"I don't mind, Rogue," he'd said as she closed the door behind him. "I like helping you. You take me more seriously than the others do."

The other X-Men ceased feeling so eager for bed. They were tired, but the sleepiness had stopped its compounding increase. Bobby and Rogue, on the other hand, welcomed the onset of their drowsiness as they drifted into the comedic lull of The Princess Bride. They both huddled on the bed with the bowl of popcorn between them. They were both dressed from head to toe in comfy sweats, thick socks and thin gloves. They were as comfortable with each other as they were in their clothes. It was as familiar to them as the movie they'd seen more times than they could count. The familiarity was easy, as easy as the transfer on the catch. It was as welcomed as their drowsiness. They fell asleep long before the movie ended. They fell asleep long before the other X-Men got ready for bed. They fell asleep even longer before Gambit and Wolverine separately made their way home.

****

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

****

FOOTNOTES:

[1]This happened a while back, before Onslaught and the arrival of Joseph with Rogue's return to the X-Men.

[2] This happened even further back, during the Inferno story when Madelyn was the Goblin Queen.

****

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~


	4. Chapter 04 Cavort

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Seether

Chapter Four -- Cavort

By Randirogue

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

"I got me some horses to ride on, to ride on. They say that your demons can't go there. So, I got me some horses to ride on, to ride on. As long as your army keeps perfectly still…" (Horses –by Tori Amos)

It was morning. Sweet dew bejeweled the lawn of the mansion as Remy LeBeau approached. He was bleary eyed from drink, but sobering, and no longer wanting to hit the sack right away. He continued to mewl around the grounds, trying to burn off his remaining enthusiasm enough so he could get some well-deserved sleep. Earlier that night, evening really, he had been drinking and talking up a femme. He'd felt the pull of sleep stronger then than he did now. He'd stayed out, intent on his task, and eventually the sleepiness dissipated. He had been attending Guild business, New York Thieves Guild business [1]. He may have given over the New Orleans Thieves Guild to a careful alliance with the Assassins Guild there, but he hadn't left the Guild. There's only one way to truly leave the Guild. And that was in death. 

That morning, he was feeling good, more like himself than he had in a few weeks. Two-for-one pinches always did that to him. He'd succeeded with the femme and gotten the information he'd sought out. It was some bit involving HP Gyrich and a government sponsored technological research called Seether. Probably something akin to his previous involvement with the sentinels programs. Gambit decided he would look over the disc he'd pinched from the femme later, after a few hours sleep, if he could come off the high of the pinch. Then he'd decide what he needed to hand over to the Professor and what needed to go to the Guilds. 

It had been a Guild assignment he was on, but since mutant births were on the rise in the Guilds—up to one out of every four births among the New York and New Orleans branches alone—a lot of Gambit's assignments related to the X-Men as well. Usually, he just shared his information with the Professor, who would filter it in with whatever else the X-Men had uncovered, taking care not to raise suspicion as to how or who had gotten it. The less the X-Men knew about the Guilds and Gambit's continued involvement with them, the better it was for the X-Men. Knowledge of Guild business was on a need to know basis, with the who that needed to know being determined by the killer, and those who didn't make the cut often ended up dead. The Professor didn't always know the how or why of Gambit's side missions, but he'd come to accept it eventually. It wasn't exactly a happy arrangement between the two of them, more of an uneasy truce that neither hurt nor helped too much on either side.

__

Merde shit! Her legs were tres bien very nice! Gambit mused to himself as he recalled the femme that he had bettered that night. _It made de night dat much more pleasant, neh! Dose legs of hers be almost as nice as Rogue's._

Gambit's thoughts floated back to Antartica. Not to the trial, for he and Rogue had made their peace with that. Though, as he recalled from the X-Men's meeting the day before, Rogue still had a mad on for Magneto over that one. 

__

Dat's ma petite! Dat femme be full of fire and sass. Just how I like it!

Gambit's thoughts trailed not to the trial, but to the night before the trial.

__

Mon Dieu my God! What I wouldn't give for another night like dat! C'etait la bonne soire it was a good night. Non, C'etait le meilleur no, it was the best! Et il n'était pas simplement au sujet du sexe And it wasn't just about sex. Mas c'etait trey magnifique but it was magnificent! Je t'aime, ma petite, ma mignonne, ma coeur, ma chere I love you, my little one, my darling, my heart, my beloved... Merde Shit! Y' still be drunk, Gambit. Y' haven't spoke dis much French in, Dieu, I don't know. Perhaps de last time y' got dis drunk, neh? Heh Heh… Mais, Francais de language d'amour. And Gambit, he love only y', Rogue. Heh Heh! He seduce others. Dieu! Many others! One tonight, par exemple for example. But it not be de same, non? Alors! Gambit love only y', Roguey… If only he could have y'…

Gambit looked up, then, and lost his enthusiasm for the good night. He was below Rogue's window. A coating of ice was on the outer pane, thicker than frost, and easily visible from his position three floors below. It was the middle of spring, a fairly warm spring, despite the slight morning chill. The night had not even been that cool. Just before dawn, the mugginess had lost its hold on the atmosphere and the dew had replaced it. 

Gambit stared for a long while at the frozen window.

__

Guess Rogue's still getting used to de new powers she absorbed from Bobby. Dat has to be what dat is. Rogue wouldn't let Bobby stay in her room, n'est-ce pas? And if he did stay, it's just 'cause dey fell asleep while he was comforting her! No, not dat... I mean, while watching a movie… Non, not dat kind of movie. Get y' head out of de gutter, Remy. Rogue's not like dat. Well, she not like dat with y' anyway. Merde! Remy, y' gotta stop t'inking like dat. T'ought's like dose are no way to stay on Rogue's good side. 

"…and maybe I'll find me a sailor, a tailor, and maybe together we'll make mother well. So, I got me some horses to ride on, to ride on. As long as your army keeps perfectly still…" (Horses –by Tori Amos)

Thoughts of the jealous ilk continued to plague the Acadian as he tried, unsuccessfully, to fall asleep. They didn't stop when he gave up on sleep, nor as he tried and failed to peruse the disc he had pinched earlier that night. They didn't stop as he found himself using his thieving skills to break into Rogue's room and see things for himself.

A scowl creased his dangerous and handsome face as he perched on the back of the plush, love-seat style chair in the corner of Rogue's bedroom. He was crouched, ready to pounce, yet comfortable. He sat on his heels, legs bent so they formed a "V" from hip to knees, forearms rested gingerly on his thighs, and the lithe curve of his back slightly rested against the wall beside the very frosted-over window that had ignited his suspicions to begin with. He did not like what he'd seen when he'd entered the room, but he couldn't bring himself to disrupt it. 

__

Rogue be needing rest after de ot'er day. I got de sneaky suspicion dat it isn't all over wit'. 'Sides, she seems content where she is.

Of course, that was the other problem, the reason he wanted to disrupt what he saw. 

__

Bobby's looking real comfortable right now too. Don't y', Popsicle?

Bobby was asleep. On Rogue's bed. With Rogue. He was fully dressed, from the top of his neck to the tips of his toes to the tips of his fingers. That was the first thing Gambit had noticed.

__

He be like a boyscout. Prepared for anyt'ing, n'est-ce pas? No, not boyscout. Like a t'ief. He subtle. I t'ink I'd been training y' too well. Pah! [2]

Bobby was lying sideways across the width of the bed. He was half-propped against the wall, half-falling over onto the pillows to the side. His legs were gently curled so they didn't hang off the bed. They almost curled around Rogue's drawn-up knees, but were separated by mere centimeters. 

__

He looks damn near cuddly. Guess Rogue t'ought so too.

Rogue's head was cradled in the hollow of Bobby's hip. There was a pillow between her head and him, but her left hand was hidden under it. Gambit had used his spatial sense to verify that it wasn't in contact with anything that would've made Rogue blush, but it still unnerved him. It was damn close. Her other hand loosely held one of her stuffed animals, her favorite and oldest, considering its tattered state. Like Bobby, she too was primarily on her back, twisted at the waist to allow angled hips and knees to lie to the side. Bobby had no blanket on him, but the quilt they were lying on was twisted around Rogue's lower legs as though she couldn't decide whether she were cold or warm.

__

Cold, definitely cold in here. How about y', Bobby? Y' cold? Somehow Gambit, he don' t'ink so. He t'ink you snug as a bug, n'est-ce pas? Merde! Y' be a slippery li'l bug, dough, don't y'?

Gambit slipped a cigarette from the pack that was in one of the many concealed pockets of his trench coat and brought it to his lips. His eyes never left the sleeping couple—_Non, not a couple—_as he lit the cigarette with a tiny spark of his powers. Specifically, his scowling gaze never left the aspect of the image on Rogue's bed that grated Remy the most. Bobby's right arm draped the length of Rogue's torso. It was hugged in the bend of her elbow as she held the stuffed toy to her chest. It lingered casually at her waist. Her bare waist, as her sweatshirt had risen up a few inches sometime while she slept. It had been the sight of her delicious pale, smooth skin that had drawn Remy's vision to that bit that grated so much. Bobby's fingertips, gloved of course, maintained the slightest contact with that bared skin at her waist.

And those fingers twitched. Remy would've liked to think they twitched from feeling his palpable scrutiny. But, the truth was revealed before he could form the thought. It came as Remy took a deep drag of his cigarette. He expected the familiar warm smoke to glide through his mouth and down his throat to fill and coat his lungs, but it didn't. He was caught off guard by the icy air that tickled the roof of his mouth. 

He looked at the cigarette accusingly and found the tip of it frozen.

"Rogue wouldn't appreciate you smoking in her room. Neither do I." Bobby said, his voice hushed, his eyes closed, and his body unmoving.

__

Of course y' wouldn't move. I wouldn't. Not for anyt'ing.

Remy tossed the now ruined cigarette into Rogue's trash. "What about y' and dis room temperature?" Gambit said. He made no movement to suggest he had any intentions of leaving his perch. "She may be partially invulnerable, mais but she doesn't like it much, non?"

"Not my doing," Bobby said, opening his eyes and raising his head then. He didn't move his hand away from Rogue's waist. Gambit's attention stayed there, on his hand on her waist and not at his face as they spoke. He liked that it goaded Remy. He didn't like that as revenge, Remy drew another cigarette to his lips. 

"Don't Gambit," Bobby said. "I know you know how much she hates it. Besides, it'll wake her and we both know she needs her rest even if she wouldn't admit it… especially since she wouldn't admit it."

Gambit put away the cigarette, but continued to glare at Bobby's hand at Rogue's bare waist. Gambit nodded once. It was a command, an affirmation of trade. He can't smoke; Bobby can't touch. Bobby relented and moved his hand. Rogue stirred slightly as he tried to pull his hand out of the crook of her arm. It tightened on his arm. He met Gambit's scowl then and returned it with an awkward one-shouldered shrug. They remained that way for a long moment, Bobby's easy neutral gaze versus Gambit's venomous scowl, until they were sure Rogue would not wake.

"Dis is what Gambit don't get about y', Bobby," Remy said as he pulled a deck of card from his coat and shuffled them, over and over. "Y' don't treat her like de woman she is," Gambit cocked his head to reveal a sarcastic grin, "'Cause y' say it's cruel, oui? [3]" Gambit lowered his head back into its previous scowl, before continuing, "Mais y' do dis."

"I'm her friend, Gambit," Bobby said as he raised himself up to lean on the elbow that wasn't being held by Rogue. He did this for two reasons. One, he was getting a crick in his neck talking to Gambit while he was lying on the pillow. Two, it served to remind Gambit that Rogue willingly trapped Bobby's other arm. Bobby even thought he saw Gambit wince, then cover it. 

"I'm her closest friend," Bobby continued with a warm smile. "This is what friends do." He half gestured to the vicinity of the popcorn bowl on the floor beside the bed and then to the video cases on top of the TV and VCR. It was awkward since he was leaning on that arm, but Gambit got the point, because he looked to the case.

"Princess Bride?" Gambit quirked a sly smile. "Dat's not y' best move, Bobby. Wesley, de Dread Pirate Roberts, he's too much like me, n'est-il pas?"

Bobby shook his head. "Not the point, Gambit. It's her favorite movie. It always makes her feel better."

"Pah! 'It's just a fantasy, a story. It don't solve anyt'ing."

"It's her fantasy."

"And y' indulge it wit' her. Dat's more cruel den what I do. Least what I give her is real. I am up front wit' her. I don't sneak around de back way, playing at being her friend, hiding my feelings, hiding my true intentions. T'ough, Gambit admit dis is bold for your sniveling-prankster appeal." Gambit cocked his head to the side again, this time to study Bobby with more interest. "Or does it fit right in wit' it. It does reek of self-torture. Is dat what y' doing, Bobby? Proving to y'self just how much a man y're not?"

Bobby shook his head as he replied, "We're not doing this, Gambit. Not here. Not now." Bobby resettled himself onto his pillow. "Go back to your room, Gambit. Sleep it off."

Gambit jumped from his perch and landed in a crouch at the foot of the bed. It was quick and silent, and as close as he was to Bobby's face, he didn't even make contact with the bed itself.

"I'm not going anywhere, long as y' here," Gambit said with a threatening grin.

"Really?" Bobby asked mischievously as he raised his head up just enough to meet Gambit's glare, "And what happens when Rogue wakes up finds you here. You think she'll be happy about it? Shit, Gambit, I can smell the booze on you. And the perfume… What else will she smell on you? Logan's heightened senses remember? Think she'll be happy to discover just what you did with the owner of that perfume?"

Gambit recoiled, leaping silently back nearly to the door. "How y' know?"

Bobby laid his head back down and sighed, "I didn't… till now. But Rogue will. Even if you leave now, she still might."

Gambit landed on the foot-board of the bed. Bobby didn't even hear him move. Bobby only felt the slightest tremor of Gambit's landing before Gambit yanked him up, clear of Rogue, and held a single glowing card at his face.

"Y're not gonna say anyt'ing about it, will—" Gambit looked horrified. "Chere!" 

Gambit leapt to the floor beside Rogue. Bobby moved to her side on the bed. 

"…you showed me the meadow and Milkwood and Silkwood. And you would if I would, but you never would. So, I chased down your posies, your pansies in my hosies, then opened my hands and they were empty then…" (Horses –by Tori Amos)

Rogue's eyes were wide open. She stared blankly, straight ahead of her. Gambit shook her and called to her, but she didn't respond. Bobby checked her pulse—he'd practiced feeling for a pulse through gloves since the incident before. He released a breath he didn't realize he'd been holding when he found her pulse to be racing, but there nonetheless.

"She's breathing," Bobby said as he watched her chest rise and fall. "Call Hank," he instructed Gambit as he picked Rogue up. 

Gambit looked a question at him. It was a sort of possessive why-don't-you-call-while-I-carry-MY-Rogue look. 

Bobby moved off the bed and made his way out of Rogue's room. "Don't be petty, damn it. I don't have my comm unit!" 

Gambit activated his comm unit as he followed Bobby down the hall. "Meet us in the medlab," he said when Beast answered, "It's Rogue."

"I'm on my way, Gambit," Beast said. Sounds of Beast's door opening and him running down the hall were heard over the comm along with his voice. "Is it like before? Should I call Logan?"

"Non, dis is different. Her eyes are open, but she's not awake."

"Perhaps, we should…" 

"Jean's on her way," Bobby called to Gambit over his shoulder just before he formed an ice-slide to carry him and Rogue downstairs the fast way… straight down. 

"Merde, Bobby!" Gambit leapt to the next landing, trying to keep up. "Y' get dat, Hank?" He leapt to the next landing and the next, without any response from Beast even though he could still hear the doctor's continuous movements towards the medlab. "Hank, y' still dere?" 

"Yes, Gambit," Hank finally answered, "Jean has contacted Emma, Logan, and the Professor as well. They'll be there shortly."

Gambit rounded the corner on the ground floor to see Logan slip inside the closing lift doors. "Merde!" He slammed into the doors too late to ride down with Rogue, Beast, Bobby and Logan, and paced nervously as he waited for the lift to come back up.

"Calm down, Gambit," Xavier said as his hover chair pulled up along side Gambit, "It will return momentarily."

"Y' really need to extend de lift all de way up, Professor!" Gambit accused.

"You could always take the stairs," offered Emma calmly when she joined them.

"Dey all de way on de ot'er side of de mansion!"

"No matter," Emma said in that same calm tone that only infuriated Gambit more, "The lift's here anyway." 

Gambit jumped inside, surprised to see Jean enter with him. Her brow was furrowed in concentration. They were followed calmly by Emma, and even slower by Xavier's hover chair. Gambit trembled with annoyed anxiousness. As soon as Xavier cleared the door, Gambit ordered the lift to take them to the med lab level.

****

~~~~~~~~~~~

"…It's easy like one, two, three. And if there is a way to find you, I will find you. But will you find me if Neal makes me a tree? An Afro? A Pharaoh? I can't go. You said so. And threads that are golden don't break easily…" (Horses –by Tori Amos)

He'd missed it the last time. It was his chance to escape. 

__

It all fell on her with the demise of the crimson blanched psi-witch. Though she hadn't known it until I couldn't resist her tasty mind. And I'd mistaken her for who she was the last time I'd tasted her and missed what it was she had become. So now I'm bound by her so sound I could not see her. But I felt the slip up. I felt my cage lift up. But twisted by the sense of the crimson one outside my cageless plane. Close she was, and with him, the broken one, and with the other, the one risen fiery from her false grave, and I gave pause. I lost my chance. I felt outside the boundaries of my cage. I tested what my unexpected captor used to hold me, to tease me with my freedom and I found the silver thread, silk and sticky, but vital as gold. I stroked it, plucked it, tasted its sweetness, found it ripe for me. And though I roared when my chance had ended, mourned the loss of that golden thread before I saw that I still held it, and then with glee I planned ahead. And oh this piece I held had shivered so acutely till it reached its stead. And there it rumbled, grumbled, humbled till it reached the sweet and sour core. I could not see it. And did I ache for it. But it was shielded inside a ball of twine. But mine was golden, growing as she fed me more than she could endure. And still it was not enough. Yet, I bid my time, I stroked that twine, fancied my golden link, and through it saw the webbing there. Saw it thinning, shifting, disobeying all her cries, her core-free tries. Inside I saw that precious core, saw the fruit, ripe for what I had in store, pulsing for a chance at freedom. And, therefore, she would need that collar at least once more. 

She felt the tug, but she was too caught up, wrapped up, tangled in her own web. He saw her helpless and anticipated her scream.

And all I'll need this time is but an instant. I've coiled the golden thread for my intent. I wait outside my plane's cage, my door. I'll need room to fit my shadow, no more. For FEAR is the reason for her core. For that, I am King. I AM KING!

****

~~~~~~~~~~~

"…I'm trying not to move. It's just your ghost passing through. It's just your ghost passing through. And now I'm quite sure. There's a light in your platoon. I never seen a light move like yours. So, now I'm wishing for my best impression of my best Angie Dickinson. But, now I've got to worry 'cause boy, you still look pretty to me. But I've got a place to go. I've got a ticket to your late show. And now I'm worrying cause even still. You sure are pretty when you're putting the damage on. Yes, when you're putting the damage on. You're just so pretty when you're putting the damage on…" (Putting the Damage On –by Tori Amos)

Jean, Gambit, Xavier, and Emma entered the medlab. Rogue was on a bed, her condition unchanged. Beast and Bobby, under Beast's direction, readied monitor devices. Hank did nothing to acknowledge the entrance of the others since Jean, who'd arrived with Bobby and Rogue, had been keeping Hank informed as she tried to prod the void that was what she believed was Rogue on the psychic plane. Just like in the war-room meeting about Kurt retrieving the collars, to Jean, Rogue again felt like an empty space and nothing more. Jean was trying to probe Rogue's mind now because Hank had not been able to discern much about the possible dangers that the collars may possess as of yet and was hesitant to use either of them. He hoped Jean could pin point the problem and that the problem was something that he or any of the telepaths could address without the use of a collar.

"It's no use," Jean complained, allowing herself a moment's pause. 

Hank turned to the others for their assessment. It was not a good sign that Jean failed. She had been the only one to have had any rational theories on Rogue's mental state, albeit not a very cohesive awareness on the astral plane.

Xavier and Emma both began their attempts at examining Rogue's mental state, but were no more successful than Jean was. 

"Beast you need to—"

"On it," Bobby said as he snatched the collar off the instrument table beside Rogue's bed and wrapped it around her throat. 

As he put it on, Bobby watched Rogue's eyes very intently for any sign of awareness that could deter the use of the collar. He felt the latch touch, for an instant he thought he saw intense fear in her eyes, and her body bucked, jerking him off her, jerking his hands enough to accidentally close the latch. But not before Rogue's psychic warning screamed through everyone. It was quick, brief and intensely strong—and over the moment the closed latch on the collar deactivated every last one of Rogue's powers.

"What de hell was dat?" Gambit accused Bobby.

"I do not believe that Rogue finds it in her best interest to be wearing that collar," Beast admitted, stating the obvious.

"Den get it off her!" 

Gambit stormed to Rogue's side, ready to remove the collar himself. Both Beast and Bobby held him away from Rogue. 

Logan joined the trio, but wasn't sure which side to fight on. He looked to Hank, who shrugged, and then to Jean, who was nursing a headache. "Well, Jeanie? On or off?" 

Jean turned to Xavier and Emma, both who were also nursing intense headaches.

"I for one would not like to endure another bout like that," Emma said. "I say leave it on. She could pick right back up where she left off if you take it off."

"Very helpful, Emma," Jean said sarcastically, a frown evident on her face indicating her pain and her annoyance at Emma. Inwardly, she thought, though careful not to project, you selfish little—

"It does make it easier for us to scan her," Xavier said. "With her access to the telepathic powers of three different people shut down, we will have a significantly higher probability of accessing her mind."

Gambit and the others backed down. He looked to Hank, concern softening his features, and asked, "Will it hurt her? That's all I want to know."

Hank sighed. "I have no idea, I'm afraid to say. If that was indeed her trying to keep us from using the collar, then, yes, it's possible. But if that was just another symptom of whatever is wrong with her, then the collar could have just eased her discomfort. Yet, her insight into there being something wrong with the collar was from her initial dismissal—"

"Oh, God!" Jean yelped. 

Jean had been scanning the fringe of Rogue's mind. These were the parts that telepaths had limited access to even when Rogue's powers weren't active. It was easy to assume that they would have more access to Rogue's mind when she was without her powers, and indeed they did. But other things caused the problem now. Things that weren't related to the Kree genetics that had again merged with Rogue's own when Magneto had reintegrated Carol Danvers' powers and life essence back into Rogue. Due to the overactive behavior of all the minds Rogue had ever absorbed that occurred when her mutation was shut down, access to Rogue's mind was little better than when she had her powers. 

Xavier and then Emma immediately followed with gasps. They had both been trying to scan that accessible perimeter of Rogue's mind even as they had been conversing with the others. The three telepaths looked at each other, shocked. 

"The Shadow King." The words were monotonous, without fear or anticipation, and said by the Five Stepford Girls who were being trained by Emma. Everyone turned to see them fanned out near the medlab entrance. They glared annoyingly at the others for staring at them. "Rogue woke us. She gave us a headache," they said at once.

"Is he attacking Rogue?" Bobby asked, almost panicked. "Is he doing this to her, and before, the other day, was that him."

"He didn't cause her… illness, no, Bobby," Xavier said.

"But the collar's released him," Emma said accusingly.

"Huh?" Bobby asked.

Gambit smirked at him. "See how much y' know. Rogue's been holding him trapped on de astral plane for weeks now."

Just then, Storm entered. "I was woken by Rogue's distress as well."

"Well, that's one way of putting it," Emma said sardonically.

"I'd be surprised to find anyone could've slept through that," Logan complained.

"I don't understand," Bobby said, returning to the previous subject. "How and why was Rogue containing the Shadow King?"

"Well, y' see," Gambit began, speaking to Bobby as if he were a small child, "Psylocke had been imprisoning him—"

"That's not what I meant," Bobby said, then turned to the professor. "It took all of Psylocke's telepathic powers to hold him. If Rogue was holding him, how did she still have telepathic powers? Psylocke didn't."

Xavier's first answer came in the form of an upraised brow. A moment later, he spoke. "My belief would be that Rogue's access to all the powers she has absorbed in the past is separated by the individuality of the person she took it from."

Hank bounded forward a few feet, excited with scientific thought. "The implications of that… that would mean… Stars and Garters, I'm not even sure. But it does call for investigation."

"So she has at least three separate telepathic abilities?" Jean asked, astounded.

Xavier answered, "It is the only explanation I can come up with at the moment. Hank is right, it should be investigated, though at a later time."

"And could she combine these powers, could she effectively multiply the strength and uses of them?" Hank asked with enthusiasm.

"Exactly my concerns, Hank," Xavier reciprocated. "But, I stress that this should be evaluated at a later time."

"Oui, Rogue needs medical attention, not to be used as some sort of guinea pig," Gambit spat with disgust.

"So is the Shadow King loose now?" Storm asked with slight hesitation. She hated to put her friend and teammate's condition second, but as one of the leaders of the X-Men she had to consider the safety of the team's entirety. That and she had horrible memories of dealing with the Shadow King. He was not an enemy she wanted to allow to linger for very long.

"He is contained at the moment," the five girls stated at once. They all cocked their heads as they touched the boundaries of the villain, then giggled. "He is frustrated."

"He's no longer on the astral plane," Jean said. Confusion edged her voice.

"No," the five answered, "He broke free of that place when the collar was activated. But the collar then trapped him inside Rogue. He has lost access to his own powers just as she has."

"So we remove de collar and he gets loose?" Gambit asked, his frustration building again. "But de collar's probably hurting Rogue? What do we do now?"  


"We are not removing that collar from her," Emma stated adamantly. "What if she does have the ability to combine all the telepathic powers she has access to? And what if that was just her initial reaction to the prospect of the Shadow King's release? I, for one, do not think it would be healthy for any of us to see how she reacts to his actual release."

"So y' want to just leave her like dis," Gambit snapped. His emphatic swipe of hand brought everyone's attention to Rogue's comatose form. She was lying on the bed in the med lab much as she had when Gambit and Bobby had discovered her dilemma. She was still. She was breathing and she had a pulse. Her eyes were open, but she showed no outward responsive movement.

Storm moved up to Remy. She put her hands on her friend's shoulders and guided him towards the door. 

"They will attend to her," Storm said. "They are among the most powerful telepaths in the world. They will help Rogue, you know they will." She nodded at Bobby, who took one sympathetic glance at Rogue before sending a pleading one to Storm. "We cannot allow our concern to distract them," Storm said, directing her words at Bobby, who followed reluctantly behind her and Gambit.

"I would like you to stay, Logan," Beast said as Logan headed for the door as well. "Just in case." 

Logan nodded at Storm before she led Bobby and Gambit away. Then he turned his attention to the five girls. "What about them?"

"We will stay," they said in unison. "If he were to escape during your therapy, together we could contain the Shadow King without depleting the whole of our powers."

Logan looked to Xavier.

"We do not know the full extent of their powers, but if it does indeed take all three of us to truly access Rogue's mind, their presence could be of assistance," Xavier stated.

****

~~~~~~~~~~~

"Sure that star can twinkle. And you're watching it do, boy so hard, boy so hard. But, I know a girl twice as hard. And I'm sure, said I'm sure, she's watching it too. No matter what tie she's got in her dresser tied. I know she's watching that star. Gonna twinkle. Gonna twinkle. Gonna twinkle." (Twinkle –by Tori Amos)

__

Wretched, wretched, wretched, conniving little child wench. Trap me with the device of my own freedom. Oh, but I will not be without my reward. I will take pleasure in tearing at your precious core. I will lap up the juices of your ripe fruit.

Rogue struggled within the cocoon made of her own web shielding. She'd snagged herself in her own mind's trap the night before in a dream she no longer remembered, in a leak from that core she so sought to protect. Before the collar had been activated she had wiggled one hand free, gained enough control to manage a primitive warning. It had drained her so much she had felt herself being pulled toward the core, nuzzled by it, ensnared tighter by it. She was less than a passenger to a long blocked off section of her own psyche. And now, as she watched the Shadow King pace the confines of her own mind, she shook with furious anger and determination. Her struggles vibrated along the tenuous web and into the core. It awoke and released a little more of the cloud that had been contained there. And that piece joined Rogue in the watching of the Shadow King as he not just paced, but also ripped through her memories. She was so caught up in watching the Shadow King she overlooked the added strength and control that had seethed into her upon the release of more of the ghostly substance that was the cloud of her core. Still, it was that part, once it joined with what had already escaped, that addressed the Shadow King.

**__**

"Ah'm gonna take pity on ya and give ya a piece of advice." The shimmering voice warned the Shadow King. "**_Do not proceed, Sugah. Ya won't like it."_**

"_I have no fear of you, child,"_ the Shadow King said._ "But, here, there is such delicious fear to play with. And more from where you came from. I can almost taste you, little as you are now, from all the way over here. Fear is my playground. And you are no match for me._"

**__**

"Do ya need meh to remind ya who's been holding ya these past few weeks. Ya had no chance o' escapin' and that was before. Ah'm givin' ya a second warning, Sugah. Do not proceed."

"But you are not now whole. I sense your power, it's mostly still hidden, though. With it I have no doubt that I would likely have no chance against you. Maybe no one would survive your release. But, you are still a far way off. And I have no plans to set you free. Fight me too much and I will turn all your lovely friends against you. Certainly, as you are, you cannot fare against me and them. And oh so many there are. I see in your memories so many who trust and pity you. Ahh, even the Magnus. What a lovely little bit of fear I see in that connection."

****

"Ah don't need Union, Shadow King. Again, Ah warn ya. DO NOT PROCEED"

Shadow King, tiring of the shimmering cloud, flicked his attention to the web-shrouded core. Several tangles of the web reeled back into itself, wrapping tighter around the core, closing off several of the holes that had opened in her dreams. The effect, to Shadow King's undeterred awareness, significantly loosened the web binding the Active Rogue in a cocoon.

__

"Why thank ya, sugah," Rogue said, _"Ah was starting to feel like a mummy in this thing. Not to mention that Ah was getting a big head with all that yapping from my own peanut gallery. Didn't know Ah had such a big ego."_

Another flick of his attention onto the Active Rogue and the web still binding her melted together, forming a form fitting, liquid sheen on her. Her eyes sparked with a twinkle similar to the Shadow King's own.

__

"It is my pleasure, Rogue." Shadow King said as he leaned in to kiss her still bound form. He doesn't see that when he wasn't watching, the twinkle was a little different than his own.

"…but I can see that star when she twinkles, and she twinkles. And I sure can, that means, I sure can… So hard, so hard." (Twinkle –by Tori Amos)

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

FOOTNOTES:

[1] I'm using something resembling the well-constructed Guild world created by Lori McDonald and Valerie Jones. Read their thieves' stories to better understand it, especially Blind Sight.

[2] See Lori McDonald and Valerie Jones' Thick as Thieves. Note, that my reference doesn't acknowledge Bobby joining the guilds or getting involved with Dierdre.

[3] See Lori McDonald's Looking at a Woman for the confrontation that this comes from.

****

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~


	5. Chapter 05 Trespass

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Seether

Chapter Five -- Trespass

By Randirogue

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

"…The spire is hot and my cells can't feed. And you still got that Belle dragging your foots. I'm hiding it well, Sister Ernestine. But, I still got that Belle dragging my foots. Right on time you get closer… and closer. Called my name, but there's no way in. Use that fame: Rent your wife and kids today. Maybe she will. Maybe she will. Caught a lite sneeze, dreamed a little dream, made my own pretty hate machine. Boys on my left side, boys on my right side, boys in the middle, and you're not here. Boys in their dresses and you're not here. I need a big loan from the girl zone" (Caught a Lite Sneeze –by Tori Amos)

They were all in. The outskirts, the outer limits, at least. The Five Stepford Girls held a tenuous, important place. They wavered on the outskirts and in the med lab at once. It was precarious and unnerving how they worked as one, and used that oneness to elicit a duality of their telepathy. It allowed them more adaptability and less all at once. They were a formidable power, but their uniqueness, their link between themselves, kept them from being of an equivalent power to any of the others present, Emma, Jean, and definitely not Xavier. But, still they could do as the others couldn't despite their weakness compared to them. They could exist in both places without being prone on either side. It was why they said they could hold the Shadow King and not lose the whole of their powers. If they held him, they would lose that dual nature, that ability to exist in both places consciously at once. But they would not lose the whole of their powers. This unnerved Xavier and Jean, but not Emma. They were Emma's find. They were her precious find to train all herself.

The five stayed further back from the others, wary of stretching their link to the outside too thin. They were confident, maybe even arrogant, but not stupid. They knew they were different, more variable, but they knew they were less powerful. They watched the others, though, as they approached the outermost shielding inside Rogue's mind.

"It's changed," Jean said, questioning everything. None of the telepaths had probed Rogue since she'd absorbed Z'Cann and had her powers altered. 

"Looks neglected to me," Emma said. In front of them was a fence made of webs stretched between tall black posts. The fencing reached for miles to either side of them and above them, reaching out of their sight.

Jean ignored Emma and spoke to Xavier. "Is this a result of Z'Cann, or is this part of her current problems?"

"I'm not sure, Jean," Xavier said as he stretched his legs. He very much enjoyed the use of his legs on the astral plane.

"Would you like to fill me in, you two," Emma stated. "I've never been here before."

"Before, Rogue's outer shields were like an obelisk containing her entire psyche," Xavier explained. "Made of obsidian, though more fluid, like a solid form of the darkest ink. It both absorbed light and reflected it. It was impenetrable by every known telepath."

"Except for the Shadow King," Jean interjected, "Remember, back on Muir, he had gained control of Rogue for a time."

"Yes, he did," Xavier admitted. 

"Are her shields really that powerful?" Emma asked. Jean and Xavier nodded, so Emma asked another question before Xavier could continue with his explanations of the changes to Rogue's outer shields. "How can she be that powerful and not be an actual telepath?"

"Good question, Emma," Jean admitted, "You want to field this one, Professor?"

Xavier sighed before continuing. Rogue's powers and shielding had always been a headache to him, Jean, and Beast. "On some levels her power works as a telapth's does. Some aspect of her power grants her the ability to deal with foreign psyche's when she absorbs a person. It is a defensive ability only as far as we've been able to detect. She has no telepathic ability outside of that unless she was borrowing one that she had just absorbed. Well, at least she didn't use to," Xavier corrected. "With the complete absorption of Z'Cann, who was a mutant Skrull telepath, and who initiated and pushed herself into Rogue, the nature of Rogue's mutation, for lack of a better word, mutated."

"How was it different from when she absorbed Carol?" Emma asked. Even as intellectually aware she was of telepathic contingencies, Rogue's abilities was dizzying to her.

"We do not know the specifics, actually," Jean admitted again. "We think that it has to do with the added telepathy of Z'Cann's to Rogue's very limited defensive abilities."

"You see, Emma," Xavier said, "What we do know, and what is probably the most direct purpose of Rogue's mutation, is that it is primarily a mutation of her genetic structure to metabolize the genetic coding of other sentient beings. The memory transfer is a side effect, we believe. The transfer is bio-electrical in nature, similar to the synapses within a mind. The memories are dragged into Rogue along with the genetic coding. The appearance is that Rogue's ability is a sort of mimicry, but it is not. We know from her total absorption of Carol, that Rogue actually takes in the genetic structure of those she absorbs and adds it to her own, thereby, mutating her own DNA to include the added attributes of the person she absorbed. Namely, this is most obvious with her gaining their powers, mutant or otherwise. But she also gains physical attributes."

"We believe that this occurs even when the transfer is temporary," Jean added, "that her DNA mutates to accommodate the added attributes, then mutates again, reverting to its previous state, when the absorption fades. But this is all superficial speculation. Except for the change in Rogue's DNA when she absorbed Carol, we have no real proof, nor have we figured out a way to test it. We were able to compare her genetic structure after Carol to that from before she'd absorbed Carol by way of medical records that Destiny had given us without Mystique's knowledge. That comparison showed the addition of Kree genes and the X-factor genes of Carol's power."

"But now the temporary attributes are no longer temporary," Emma said, gleaning an understanding to what Z'Cann had changed. "Thanks to whatever Z'Cann's added attributes did, Rogue now permanently possesses the attributes of those she absorbs without having to kill them to do so."

"Correct," Xavier said.

"Yet the effect is retroactive? How?" Emma asked, showing them the mistake in the original logic of Rogue's power. Xavier and Jean both looked at Emma with surprise. Neither had contemplated that fact before. The change in Rogue's access to absorbed powers should not logically be retroactive. 

"They must never have only been temporary." Jean said. "Otherwise, she'd only have permanent access to those she absorbed _after_ the change that Z'Cann induced." 

"Exactly, Jean," Emma said smugly. "So, where did those other powers go when we all thought they had faded away? The must have still been inside her somewhere. Did she just forget about them? Misplace them, maybe?"

"I really don't know, Emma," Xavier said, admitting defeat. "Rogue is really becoming more of an enigma the more we discover about her."

"What worries me," Jean said, looking from Emma to Xavier to the five and then to the altered outermost shields of Rogue's mindscape, "is Sinister. Does this have anything to do with his seemingly sudden interest in Rogue? We are only examining Rogue's ability now because of her medical problems. From Sinister's cryptic conversation with Nightcrawler, he's already developed theories about Rogue's powers on a much deeper level than we, or even Rogue, seems to have ever considered before now."

Xavier addressed Jean, "I sympathize with your concerns, Jean, but we must focus on the priority of pulling Rogue out of her current episode before we can do anything about understanding Rogue's powers any further."

"What if it is these unknown qualities of Rogue's powers that are causing her episodes?" Asked the five, startling Jean, Xavier and Emma. They had been so silent, the trio had nearly forgotten that they were even there.

"It is most likely," Emma stated flatly.

Xavier responded with variability in his usual steady, sure, voice. "But what would be the cause? It's not likely from changes induced by Z'Cann, those would have surfaced long ago, when the changes first occurred."

"Unless those changes have never stopped occurring," Jean theorized. "First, she randomly possessed powers individually. Second, she got them in groups. Later, she was able to control the use of the still randomly available powers, as she had been able to with previous absorption. It was only recently that she was able to control what powers were present."

"You have a point, Jean," Xavier said. "Perhaps, what is happening to Rogue is not an illness or injury at all. It could be the onset of the next level of change."

"So are we going to be doing this, then?" Emma asked, pointing toward the outermost shields. "Should we be doing this? We will effectively be breaking into her mind. Is that safe for any of us or for her? Isn't it possible that this is exactly what is supposed to happen for the next change to occur."

"Like a cocoon or chrysalis for a caterpillar to become a butterfly?" Xavier contemplated. "It is possible. Forcing our way into that cocoon could be dangerous, even fatal to Rogue. I don't like this at all. All of our theorizing is eliminating all of our options. By our deductions, we should neither try to help her by entering her mind, nor do nothing at all because whatever is happening to her is causing her harm."

"So what do we do?" Emma asked, annoyed.

Jean and Xavier both stared at Emma dumbfounded. None of the trio had an answer. After a long moment, the five spoke up.

"Adults," the five chastised, then smirked in superiority when the trio turned back to them. "You have only one choice. You must enter. You must retrieve her. Catatonia is always a sign of distress."

"You are correct," Xavier admitted to them and bowed his head in weariness.

"Of course we are. It is simple. You must revive her to solve the immediate problem. Then you must stop these changes in Rogue since they are hurting her. And if you cannot, you must at least discover what these changes are so that you can at least ease the transition so that it does not kill her."

"Professor?" Jean asked, drawing Xavier's attention to her. "That was our original intention when we entered here. We may not have had it so detailed, but essentially that was it. But, ever since we entered we've been stalling ourselves."

Xavier responded with a raised brow. 

"Are we being influenced then?" Emma asked, disbelief evident in her features. "Without our knowledge of it? By who? Why?"

"We've been reacting with our fears, I think," Jean said.

"I think you are correct," Xavier admitted, again, "But the Shadow King should be as powerless as Rogue with the collar on her."

"We do not believe it is him, necessarily," the five said and pointed behind Xavier. 

Several ropes of webbing sprung out and looped Xavier. It wrapped him in a cocoon and folded him against the large, complicated web that stretched between two tall, thin obsidian spires. It happened in the space of the others' gasp.

"I hope the spider isn't hungry," Emma said sardonically. Jean gave Emma a wry glare before they positioned themselves to free Xavier. "Well, since the shield is Rogue's, I would venture to guess that she really doesn't like Xavier's presence."

They both pulled on the webbing, but their actions merely caused more webbing to bind Xavier. It also incited smaller strands to swap and coil threateningly, though loosely around Jean and Emma.

"I'm starting to think Rogue does have something against Xavier," Jean said. 

"What made you think that," smirked Emma, "the fact that the shields aren't trapping us as well. Though," she added with a slight laugh as she stroked the webbing that bound Xavier's mouth and eyes, "the fact that she has caught him so easily and expertly does make me view her with a new respect."

"You can tell her yourself, later," Jean grunted as she tried to pry Xavier free from the web with her telekinesis. "After we get Xavier out of this." She grunted again as she used a different tactic with her TK, to no avail. "You'd think Rogue was bitten by a radioactive spider or something. How did she ever come up with this?"

"Can't fault her for it," Emma said, having given up and decided just to watch Jean's feeble attempts at freeing Xavier, "It is very effective, deceptively so. We're not going to get through it with brute force. We need to come up with something else."

"Um, guys," the five said. Jean and Emma look to where they pointed beyond the web-fence.

The Shadow King approached them, smiling wide and hungrily. Coils of the webbing wrapped around his wrists, ankles and neck. They trailed off, out of sight, into the interior of Rogue's psyche. He flicked his attention to Xavier and the webbing that wrapped Xavier's mouth and eyes slid away.

"That's better. Now we can have a decent conversation," the Shadow King said.

"How are you, Professor? Are you in any pain?" Jean asked.

"No pain, Jean. I'm merely immobile."

Jean turned a simmering glare to the Shadow King, "Release him, now!"

With a flippant gesture Xavier was released. Jean checked his condition as the Shadow King approached the web fence from the inside. He raised a hand, caressing the webbing from a few inches away. The webbing shifted, condensing where his hand was nearest. When his hand was not removed, the webbing quivered and a few coils writhed toward him. He retreated.

"It is a formidable mind, isn't it?" Shadow King asked.

"So you can't pass through anymore than we can?" Xavier asked in return.

"It appears that way, doesn't it," responded the Shadow King. "Although, I doubt I could get very far with these," he raised his wrists to emphasize his web shackles, "unless you were to help me."

"I don't think so," Emma said flatly.

"She's actually containing you within her own mind?" Jean asked with one raised brow in disbelief.

"Yes… and no," Shadow King said, "It appears she is trapped as well." 

He swept his hand back behind him. As Jean and the others followed his motion, they saw a dense cloud. Through it came Rogue, as though pulled by a lasso wrapped around her waist. She adorned a grotesque version of the webbing cocoon. It appeared to be melted together, resembling severe burn scars. It encased her like a body suit, allowing her limbs to move, though not entirely of their own volition. The webbing streamed from her all up and down the back side of her body. It was like hundreds of strands of stretched melted mozzarella. The strands twisted into an enormous rope that led out of sight behind her.

"Rogue!" exclaimed Jean. 

"Hey there, Sugah," Rogue said as she looked over all her visitors. She smiled grimly, "Friendly meeting ya'll here. Excuse the mess, would ya? Seems Ah'm being invaded."

"Is he doing this to you?" Jean asked. "The other day, and tonight?" 

Rogue grimaced and crossed her arms. 

"I'm going to have such fun with you once they take that collar off," the Shadow King laughed.

"Try it, and maybe Ah might just forget that the X-Men don't kill," threatened Rogue.

The Shadow King only laughed harder. He waved his arm in an exaggerated gesture indicating Rogue's entire mindscape. "With all of this going on? Please. You can't even escape yourself."

"Rogue," Xavier said, trying to draw her attention away from the Shadow King. "Let us in. We want to help you."

Rogue eyed the group warily. "Not the creepy girls though_." _Silently, Rogue added, _They remind me too much of me in too many ways._

"Fine," Emma said eagerly. She wanted to release Rogue and get out as soon as possible. "Can you keep him out of the way while we're in here?"

"No problem, Sugar," Rogue said. She stomped up to the Shadow King and punched him. It wasn't as violent as it could have been had she access to her super strength, but it was enough to land him within reach of the writhing coils of the web fence. It promptly ensnared him as it had Xavier. 

"Can't he access the fence?" Emma asked.

"Probably. He is an Omega class telepath. The only one, as Ah recall," Rogue reminded them. "But that should hold him for awhile, at least." 

Rogue pointed to the thinned section of web fence in front of Jean, Xavier and Emma. It had opened when it shifted to ensnare the Shadow King. "Ya'll coming? It's gonna strengthen in a moment." It was slowly thickening as she spoke, actually.

Jean slipped through the gap, followed by Emma and Xavier. As soon as Xavier put one foot on the other side, the web slithered over him and ensnared him as well, trapping him on the outside of the fence.

"Rogue!" Jean gasped, "Let him go!"

Rogue frowned, "Ah can't."

"You don't control it?" Emma asked. "It is your mind, you know."

"And Ah'm trapped in it, if ya hadn't noticed," Rogue snapped as she flipped the coil that streamed from her back toward them. "It's why ya'll are here, isn't it?"

"Yes, Rogue, it is," Jean placated as she signaled for Emma to cut the wise cracks and follow Rogue. "Will he be okay there while we do this?"

"Yeah. It's just defensive. It only reacts; it doesn't attack. It might even let him go after a while. If he doesn't put up too much of a fuss. I wouldn't try to get back in if it does, though, Professor. Ya'll understand?" Rogue waited for him to answer. Out of politeness, maybe. She didn't think he could actually answer, bound as tightly as he was. Quietly, she added, "Ah don't know if it would remember ya."

"Remember him?" Emma asked and was promptly shushed by Jean.

They all walked a long way. Everywhere they went, ropes of the web stretched across the landscape in seemingly random, yet complicated patterns. They constantly had to duck, bend, twist, step, and occasionally climb over the ropes to keep moving. The coil attached to Rogue seemed to retract easily among the weave-work on its own. It always had the same slack, no matter how far they walked. 

And far they did walk. They passed landscape after landscape. Countryside turned to cityscape to countryside to cityscape and so on. Each one was individual, resembling some real location. Some were pristine, other than the webbing, of course, while others were ruins, post-apocalyptic visions of every imaginable form.

"Where exactly are we going?" Emma asked.

"My childhood. Ain't that always the problem in us unstable types?"

"Rogue, nobody thinks you're unstable," Jean sighed.

"Really, Jean," Emma said curtly, "I believe unstable is a good word for all this."

Jean opened her mouth to chastise Emma again, but Rogue spoke first. "It's all right, Jean. Ah'm used to it." Still, the tension increased in Rogue, knotting the muscles between her shoulder blades.

They were at a clearing by a large river and Rogue paused. Ahead of them there was a large gnarled tree with huge limbs that dangled over the river. It was the mighty Mississippi, and it flowed on a steady, quiet course. It seemed in defiance of the chaos that otherwise enveloped Rogue's mindscape. A tire swing hung from one of the strongest branches overreaching the river. On it, swung a child version of Rogue. She was only ten or eleven years old. She laughed gleefully, unbidden, the way happy children laugh before they learn to hide their emotions. On the shore, a young boy cheered. He had short blond hair, bright blue eyes, freckles peppered his cheeks, and he had the gangly form that was common to boys who were just hitting a growth spurt. He looked to be a year or two older than the child Rogue. He could have been the same age though, since the child Rogue was small and skinny, as if she had gone through a period of time where she had been undernourished. 

__

But she's so young to have survived something like that. And that has to be Cody, thought Jean. _But…_ Her thoughts were cut off by Emma.

"Why aren't there so many webs here?" Emma asked. "Is this the spot we're looking for?"

Jean looked around them. Surprisingly, very few web ropes entered the vicinity. 

"No," Jean answered before Rogue could. "This is a happy memory. A highly cherished one."

"Yeah," Rogue sighed nostalgically. "Ah won't let anything mess up this place. Anything."

"If you don't mind me asking, Rogue," Jean said hesitantly, "Is this memory from before or after Mystique took you in?"

Rogue looked to Jean, surprised, but answered, "After. Why?"

"Well, you look like you'd been undernourished, yet you're with Cody. And he's obviously healthy. Is the memory accurate?"

"Yeah," Rogue said with confidence. "Like Ah said, Ah don't let anything mess with this one."

"But how?" Jean asked, obviously confused. "I thought Mystique took you in after your parents kicked you out for being a mutant, for absorbing Cody."

Rogue raised a cynical brow, "What gave ya'll that idea?"

"You said…?"

"Ah never said anything of the sort," Rogue asked defensively. "Ah said that Mystique took me in when no one else would have me. Ah said Ah probably would've starved to death if it wasn't for her. Ah never said it had anything to do with Cody. Ah didn't even know Cody until after Ah lived with Mystique."

"I guess we just assumed it was because…" Jean trailed off.

"Because my folks were mutant hating trash?"

"Well, yeah... We all did."

"As much as I'd like to see you with your foot in your mouth, Jean," said Emma. She started walking in the direction they were headed before Rogue had paused at the pleasant memory. "Perhaps, we should stick to our mission."

Rogue and Jean joined with Emma in the return of their travels. Rogue took the lead again, and after what seemed like another couple of hours had passed, they finally came to where the webbing was the densest and they could go no further.

"Um, Rogue," Emma asked, "Two questions for you, dear. What exactly is this place? And where are all your ghosts—the traces of those people you've absorbed that we've all heard so much about?"

"Ah don't rightly know, Emma, on either account." Rogue said wearily. "The ghosts are usually more active when my powers are gone, 'specially the ones that ain't too happy with me. And this place, well, it's always been here, far as Ah remember. It's where all my shielding comes from."

"You didn't build this, then?" Jean asked. 

Rogue shook her head, "Nope," then raised a confused expression to Jean, "But Ah guess Ah must've. It's been here since before Ah ever knew Cody."

"Is it always like this, though?" Emma asked.

"No. It's kinda become volatile the last few days."

"What exactly is different about it?" Jean asked.

"It's sorta takin' over the place if ya'll hadn't noticed," Rogue said, not even trying to disguise her sarcasm.

"We understand that, Rogue," Emma pursed, "But we need to know the specifics so that we can address the problem."

"My best guess, at least what Ah always just assumed, is that this," Rogue said indicating the Core. It looked like a huge ball of twine looming over them. Thousands of webbed strands spiked out from it on all sides, trespassing into all the far corners of Rogue's mind and beyond. "Was my childhood. The earliest part. Ya know, the stuff that ya don't consciously remember because ya haven't really learned to remember yet."

"The formative years, you mean," Emma said. "Up to about age five?"

"A little later for me, Ah'm afraid," Rogue said. "Up till about seven or eight, Ah would venture to guess."

"That old?" Jean asked, shocked. 

"Well, Ah have a few memories after six, but not much, and they're pretty sparse." Rogue looked away, ashamed.

"That's not normal, Rogue," Jean said. Her voice was filled with concern. "You should've gotten treatment for this long ago. I can't believe even Mystique would've let this knowingly go on." Jean paused then and was about to continue when Emma spoke up.

"You didn't tell her?" Emma screeched. "Wait… She had to know about it. If my timing's right, your memories only start just before Mystique took you in then. She had to know… Unless you hid it from her."

"But she was so young," Jean interjected. "She couldn't pull off something that complicated without some training. Unless Mystique just didn't care about it. And I wouldn't put that past her," Jean paused, then burst out in a huff, "That… that bitch!"

"Hey, don't go blaming Mystique for my problems," Rogue said defensively, "She may not be the best role model for a little girl, but she cared for me when nobody else would."

"Like she cared for you when she put an adamantium knife in your gut back at Muir Island a couple of months ago," Jean snapped. She just couldn't understand why Rogue continued to defend that awful woman.

"Ah don't remember Xavier showing up and offering a hand up like he did for some folks Ah know," Rogue said pointedly to Jean. 

"That's not fair, Rogue," Jean said, though, she was placating herself as much as Rogue. "He couldn't have known. You hadn't even developed your powers, yet. And it wasn't like your situation was all over the news. There was no way for him to have known about you."

"Mystique did," Rogue said, the accusation still in her voice. "Mystique didn't just stumble upon me, as much as ya'll would like to believe. She sought me out, Jeannie. It took her a week before Ah would come outta my hiding place and talk to her."

"Maybe, but from what we've been hearing about Storm's little secret mission, Mystique had inside Information. Destiny and her diaries probably knew all about you. I bet she wasn't too surprised by your mutant powers, was she?" Jean pressed.

Rogue looked away. "She didn't know what they would be—exactly. But she had an idea, yeah."

"Thought so," Jean said with an I-told-you-so tone of voice. Then realization spread across her face and she broke into accusations again, "She had to know about this, then. She had to. And she did nothing about it!"

"Gawd, Jean," Rogue said. "Stop getting your panties in a bunch. It ain't all that terrible. Ah was just a late bloomer is all. And if'n ya'll don't recall, Irenie's foresight didn't see everything about everybody." 

Rogue paused for a long while as she thought back to the letter Irene had written her and Vargas had sent her. _Did ya really know, Irene? Or did ya just see what's happenin' now,_ Rogue wondered to herself. 

Just when Jean thought Rogue wasn't going to talk about it any more, Rogue did indeed continue, "They didn't even find me the first place they looked, ya know."

"No, I didn't know," Jean conceded. 

There was very little they knew about Rogue, really. So much of what they'd accepted as fact about Rogue's background was merely their own blanket assumption. Even when it came to her involvement with Mystique and Irene, they'd assumed most of what they'd all considered absolute truth. 

__

How much of that was our fault, Jean wondered._ We'd assumed the worst of her right from the get go. I wasn't around when she'd joined, but the others weren't too friendly from what I've heard. She didn't hide her past from us. Not really. And it seems that what we thought was much more insulting to her than what was the truth. She didn't even try to convince us otherwise. Not that I think anyone wanted to believe her back then. We took it for granted that she had severed herself from who she was in order to become who she is with the X-Men. It appears she did a more thorough job of that than any of us estimated, from the looks of this ball thing. How much did Mystique and Irene know about this? Why did they seek Rogue out? And did it have anything to do with Destiny's mysterious--_

"Yoo-hoo!" Emma called from around the Core a ways. She stepped into their view so that they could accompany her. "While you two were bickering and having a girl bonding moment, I have been investigating Rogue's little problem here."

"What did you find," Jean asked and she and Rogue made their way to the back side of the Core with Emma.

"Just a little bit that may be of some interest," Emma said nonchalantly.

The others looked over what was happening in front of them. Several ghosts of those people Rogue had absorbed in the past were attacking the Core itself as well as the web coils that came off of it. Mostly the attackers were enemies that Rogue had absorbed in battle. Juggernaut and Warlock's father and Magneto, to name a few. But there were some that had been Rogue's friends mixed in with the attacking bunch. Collossus, Nightcrawler, Bobby, Storm, Xavier, Scott, and Jean herself were among them, surprisingly enough. Even more surprising, though, was the combination of defenders. Gambit, Wolverine, Psylocke, and Sabretooth were the only defenders. They were repelling both the attackers and webbing, which had taken to attacking the defenders while only reacting to the attackers assault on the web coils. Each of the ghosts had a direct line of web that was attached to some part of their body. Upon closer inspection, Jean noticed that those coils did not seem to link with the Core itself. Jean looked to Rogue. The enormous coil that was attached to her was directly linked to the core. 

__

Well, that's something new, Jean thought. She went back to the coils leading away from the ghosts. Jean followed them.

"Where are you going, Jean," Emma asked with annoyance. _Distracted again, I suppose. How does she ever accomplish anything this way?_

"Hopefully, I'm helping to solve this dilemma," Jean said as she followed the trail of the ghosts' links further and further away. "Deal with them, I've got an idea."

"Well, hurry back, will ya," Rogue said as she punched one of the villains. Doing so caused the webbing on her to constrict a little in warning. "My captor don't seem to want me scrappin' with these folk, if ya know what Ah mean."

Jean followed the trail out of sight, oblivious to the fight that Emma and Rogue had joined. As she moved, she noticed the significant amount of webbing that streamed along beside her. It originated at the Core and headed straight for the same destination as Jean was headed. Eventually, she reached it. 

Jean stared at the intricate web that stretched flat from one wall to the other. It blocked one entire corner of Rogue's mind, though it didn't conceal it. Upon closer examination, she found that the web here was crystalline. It was hard, solid, like glass or ice. It didn't wriggle or writhe or pulse like the other webbing did. It didn't seem alive. But it didn't seem dead either. It was more like it was frozen in some sort of suspended animation. 

Jean tentatively touched a piece of the gigantic web. The blockade itself didn't respond, but several of the coils that she had followed, as well as the coils that stretched from the Core, quivered. 

__

Interesting, Jean thought. 

Jean then took the chance of a more dangerous exploration. She wanted to see what this shield protected, but there weren't any gaps within the intricate pattern large enough for her to climb through. She settled for reaching her hand in.

It felt cold. Unused. Hollow. She wiggled her fingertips and could sense a substance, sense a palpable waiting, anticipation, a potential. 

Meanwhile, Emma and Rogue were having quite a bit of success against her Core's attackers. The ghosts didn't have use of their powers, which Rogue and Emma surmised was because of the suppression collar. Emma thought it made sense. It was through them that Rogue got access to their powers. If she didn't have her powers, then neither would they. It was definitely to Emma and Rogue's advantage too. The ghosts were much weaker than their real versions were. Unfortunately, though, Rogue was being more tightly bound in the cocoon with every strike against their opponents. All that was free now were her legs and her eyes. She looked like a half-finished Mummy. 

With a final kick to Magneto's head, Rogue took Magneto down. He wasn't as adept in hand to hand fighting as he had so relied on his powers for fighting. She fell down just after he did. She was indeed wrapped tight as a mummy now.

"Jean!" Emma called in the direction that Jean had disappeared to, hoping she would be heard. "We could use your help right about now!"

"I'm right here," Jean said as she walked calmly up behind Emma. "You don't have to yell."

Emma delivered a blow to Nightcrawler, which surprisingly, knocked him down. Only Collossus and Juggernaut remained. With one swipe of her telekinesis, Jean knocked them out. Gambit, Psylocke and Wolverine took up defensive postures towards Jean and Emma, but made no direct attack against them.

"Why didn't you do that in the first place," Emma asked accusingly.

"I had to give you something to do while I came up with a way to release Rogue, didn't I?" Jean asked with mock superiority.

"By all means, Jean. Show us how it is to be done," Emma said as she swept down in a mocking bow.

"It's simple really. If you'll notice, the coil that has Rogue trapped is linked directly to this thing here. But the ghosts are linked to something else, which acts as a buffer between them and this thing, so they are not bound by it as Rogue is. That buffer is Rogue's mutant powers, at least her absorption powers. I won't go into my theories on that right now. Nevertheless, the ghosts have more freedom because although the collar cuts off their powers so Rogue can't access them, it also quiets the hold that his thing has on them. The buffer between them and it is Rogue's absorption powers, and that is shut down at the moment. Rogue is held directly by this, though, without a buffer. Whatever it is has found a way to break through and gain some control. It may even have access to Rogue's powers on its own, though it is cut off from them by the collar as well."

"So all we have to do is heal the shields on this thing and Rogue will be free?" Emma asked skeptically.

"Even simpler," Jean kneeled beside Rogue. She was completely wrapped by the webbing save for one ear and both her eyes. Whatever it was that was trapping Rogue, wanted her to witness it, needed her to witness it. "We don't do anything at all," Jean looked to the ghostly beings of Gambit, Wolverine, and Psylocke. "None of us do." Jean looked back down to Rogue. "Rogue simply releases herself."

"Well, if she could, don't you think she would?" Emma asked.

"No," Jean said, looking to Emma. "I haven't figured out the specifics yet, but I think that Rogue is forcing the hold herself by not wanting to face whatever that shield contains. I think this all started when the shield weakened and Rogue was confronted by it." Jean rested her hand on Rogue's web wrapped shoulder and met her friend's fearful gaze. "You are responsible for all of this Rogue."

**__**

"That's what Ah've been trying ta tell her," said a quiet shimmering voice that seemed to come from all around them. The child's intonation of the voice was obvious. 

Jean stood up and she and Emma looked around them. The very atmosphere surrounding them coalesced into a cloudy wisp that filtered out from several weak points of the Core.

"Can she release herself," Emma asked the cloud.

**__**

"Ah couldn't hold her completely if she didn't let meh," the shimmering voice said. **_"She is afraid of meh 'n drawn ta meh foh different reasons. Right now, Ah thinks it's a tie."_**

"Then let her go," Jean stated flatly.

**__**

"If Ah do, ya'll will help her lock meh away again."

"Well, killing her isn't going to free you either," Emma said, getting annoyed.

"And I don't think we could do it entirely now anyway," Jean said with a mixture of sadness and elation to her voice. "You're too strong for that now."

**__**

"An' stronger too, both of us, if she'd accept meh," the shimmering voice accepted**_. "Will ya help her?"_**

"Yes," Jean said. "But you must be patient. Rushing her and forcing her will only hurt her."

**__**

"Okay," the shimmering said just as it dispersed. **_"It's up ta her now."_**

Jean looked to Rogue. "Rogue, honey, do you want out?" Jean asked her. 

Rogue nodded her head emphatically. It was just a slight tremble, though, on account of the tight web bindings. 

"Then do it," Jean instructed.

Jean and Emma watched Rogue close her unbound eyes in determined concentration. Slowly, the bindings loosened and fell away from her. Jean held out her hand and helped her up. Rogue opened her eyes and the tension eased in her a little, but the stubborn determination remained apparent.

"Now we clean this place up," Jean said and nodded to Emma, who moved to Rogue's other side and grasped her hand. 

Under the combined will of the trio, the webbing obeyed. The strands thinned and recoiled back onto the Core. Thousands of strands, miles and miles long, moved past them and rejoined the Core. After a while the reversion stopped. Rogue and Jean and Emma looked around. Jean and Emma seemed satisfied. The Core's shielding was dense and intricate, with only a few tiny wholes where the overlapping webbing didn't completely seal itself off. Jean thought that it was good that it didn't. Rogue's childhood, if that was indeed what that was, shouldn't be completely sealed off. Even the earliest memories of her formative years weren't supposed to be cut off. Nobody's were supposed to be. For some reason that Jean couldn't pinpoint, she believed that it was good that it was shielded so well for the time being. She really didn't think that the Core was solely made up of Rogue's early childhood. Whatever else was there, whatever other aspects Rogue had concealed from herself there, knowingly or otherwise, was beyond Jean's recognition at the moment. She didn't concern herself by it too much. Instead, she let herself be content with the victory they had achieved that day.

"Well, it ain't like it was, but it'll do," Rogue said.

"It seems sturdy enough," Emma said. "Rather sophisticated for a non-telepath. Especially if this was first developed before your mutation manifested."

"Ah just don't like the looks of that," Rogue said indicating the thirty or so strands of web that linked the Core with the Closet, the cubby that contained Rogue's absorption powers. "Those either," Rogue added and pointed to the dozen of strands that stretched the entirety of Rogue's mindscape and beyond. "They reach beyond my mind, ya know. Ah can feel 'em in my chest."

Jean touched one of the strands that stretched the mindscape while Emma examined those that linked the Core to the Closet.

"They are safe," Emma said. Jean nodded her assent and Rogue relented.

**__**

"But they won't be if ya'll don't keep yoah word," the shimmering voice said. This time it didn't bother coalescing. **_"Ah'll be waiting for ya after that intruder is taken care of."_**

And with that, they left. Rogue accompanied them to the place where they had entered. The five could be seen in the distance on the other side. The Shadow King and Xavier, though, were nowhere in sight.

"The Professor was expelled," the five said when they saw the concern on Jean's face. "He is fine. He is waiting for you outside."

"And the Shadow King," Emma asked.

"In there somewhere," the five said.

Rogue cocked her head to the side. She looked as though she was listening to something far away, something only she could hear. After a moment, she addressed the others. "Ah told ya'll it wouldn't hold him long… but Ah still have him under wraps. He's not going anywhere, especially while Ah have this collar on.

Jean nodded reluctantly. She was about to speak when Rogue spoke first. 

"Ah'll see ya'll topside, okay." With that Rogue waved her hand before the web fence and it opened just enough to let Emma and Jean pass. It sealed up immediately as soon as they were on the other side.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

****


	6. Chapter 06 Caper

****

A/N: Warning! Sexual situations contained in this chapter!

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Seether

Chapter Six – Caper

By Randirogue

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

"…I've shaved every place where you've been. God knows I know I've thrown away those graces. The Belle of New Orleans tried to show me once how to tango. Wrapped around your feet, wrapped around like good little roses. Blood roses, blood roses, back on the street now. Now, that you've cut out the flute from the throat of the loon. At least when you cry now, he can't even hear you. When chickens get a taste of your meat. When he sucks you deep. Sometimes, you're nothing but meat" (Blood Roses –by Tori Amos)

Remy LeBeau stood outside Rogue's bedroom. He was dressed to the nines. He wore a tailored fit silk Armani tuxedo. It was all black, jacket, pants, shirt, and wing tips. The jacket was iridescent, giving it a crimson sheen. The bolo was an unpolished platinum oval set with a full karat trillion ruby. The ruby on the bolo and the red highlights of the jacket brought out the brilliance of his red on black eyes. It made him look like a gangster, but a devilishly handsome gangster. It was the attire he was accustomed to wearing around the thieves' guild and he knew exactly the effect it had on women, the effect it would have on Rogue. He had it all planned out; knew exactly how it would go.

After he knocked, Rogue opened her bedroom door to the devastatingly masculine sight of Remy LeBeau, Gambit, in all his charming splendor. Rogue swooned to the mischievous glimmer in his Diable Blanc eyes, the cocky quirk of his grin, and the sensual ease of his stance. With a flick of his wrist he produced a single long stemmed blood red rose. With a bow from his neck he would present it to Rogue.

"T' compliment y' beauty, ma petite, for not'ing could equate it." His voice was like the finest warmed Cheri—soothing, burning, slithering, and intoxicating. 

Rogue accepted the rose and his compliment with a blush. Remy held out his arm to her, and after she took it, he led her down the hall. Both of them beamed. She protested the inappropriate nature of her dress, of course, but he assured her that everything she required was awaiting her. He was going to show her a taste of who he really was tonight. He hoped she would ask her inevitable questions in the correct manner so he could answer them with the honesty he wanted so dearly to give her [1].

However… that was not how it happened.

Rogue answered his knock by calling, "Come in," from within her room. She didn't even open it for him.

__

It not ruined wholly, non? De effect just be different, s'all.

Her voice had sounded muffled, even taking into consideration that it had to penetrate her closed bedroom door, so Remy reached out with his spatial sense, to feel for her location. He found her in her bathroom. Her body temperature was heated, a lingering remnant of her shower.

__

Dis not be all bad, neh Remy? Seeing her all slick and wet and… Merde. Heh heh! Maybe even better den y' planned.

Remy entered. His arrogant swagger led him straight to her opened bathroom door where he saw her wearing only a… terry cloth robe tied loosely at her waist.

__

Merde, she even makes dat sexy. Calm down, Remy. She isn't intending to show y' more den dat.

Rogue was bent forward, towel drying her hair. She stood, twisting to face him and he got a momentary flash of her supple breasts.

__

Dieu!

The flash ended quickly as she straightened to stand erect. She pulled the towel away from her tousled, wet hair, giving him full view of the collar around her neck.

__

T'ink dat be a hint, Remy? T'ink y' luck on y' side tonight? Y' could always do de revelation t'ing anot'er night. He smirked, shook his head and chided himself. _Good t'ing she got dat collar on really, non? Least she can't hear y' t'oughts. Heh heh*_

"What y'all dressed up for, Gambit?" Rogue asked, flashing him a curious smile.

__

Go ahead, say somet'ing, Remy. Y' supposed to be de suave one, non?

"'S a surprise, chere," Remy said with his Cheri voice. He sauntered closer and leaned against the bathroom doorjamb. "Mais, y' not feeling up to going out," he purred, "We could stay here instead."

Rogue didn't even blink at his offer. She picked up her comb, turned to the mirror, and set to de-tangling her short, white streaked hair.

"Got other plans, Sugar," she said without jest… or regret. "Maybe another time."

Gambit wasn't dissuaded, though, especially since the motion of her combing her hair kept granting him quick glimpses of her bared cleavage. Besides, he was used to having to persuade her. He flicked out the rose and caressed it down her upraised arm. He watched it the whole way down, how it graced every tiny pale hair on her forearm once it passed the robe's sleeve. He savored it for what it was—the only closeness she would allow him. 

He was disparaging. She was even more closed off than usual. He knew it had to do with whatever was going on with her, but she wouldn't talk to him about it, about anything remotely personal, actually, especially the last few days. He also knew that he was taking it badly, and taking it out on her and Bobby. Ever since he'd awoken in the med lab, his behavior had been inexcusable. He realized this. He was being selfish and overly possessive. But, he just couldn't seem to fix it. It seemed as though a seedier version of his thoughts were replacing his own true thoughts before they could have a chance to take form. Yet, sometimes his thoughts did form as he'd intended them too. It was confusing and seemed to him like he was just trying to lie to himself to make himself feel better and less guilty.

But, wasn't he prone to guilt?

His sadness slipped into the words when he said, "Sure Remy can't convince y' to change y'r plans?"

"Sorry, Sugar," Rogue said without a break in her grooming. "Be rude to cancel now since Ah did the inviting." She tapped his chest with her comb, then motioned to the doorway he was blocking and said, "Ya mind? Ah need to get dressed."

Gambit stepped aside, ushering her through with a flourished sweep of his arm. He followed her as she moved to her dresser and rifled through one of the larger drawers. 

__

Y' aren't going to give up dat easy, are y', Remy?

Rogue pulled out an unidentifiable piece of lithe black clothing. It slipped around her fingers like water over ferns before she tossed it onto her bed.

"But don't waste the night off on my account, Gambit," she said nonchalantly as she closed the first drawer and moved onto her undergarment drawer. "Ah'm sure ya can find something to do with yaself." With a giggle, she added, "even all trussed up as ya are."

__

Trussed up?!

She pulled a few items out and closed the drawer and faced him. Impatience, not anger, creased her brow. She held the undergarments in her hand. They were black. They were satin. They looked like lingerie. The sight of them seared sordid images of her wearing them—and him removing them—into his mind.

__

Dieu! Dis must be some sort of punishment. Wonder why Dante didn't have dis in one of his rings of hell. [2]

Was that a real thought or a replacement thought? _Don't do dat. Stop lying to y'self. Rogue deserves better den dat. Y' just lashing out 'cause y' dontt want face up to de implications of what's happening to Rogue…_ Gambit sighed heavily._ *o many t'ings going wrong all at once, y' can't t'ink straight, Gambit… Great, y' doing it again._

Rogue swiped the garments at him, backing him up to the door. "Go on, git. Ah don't have all night, Remy." 

As soon as he was through the door, she shut and locked it. Gambit just stared at the closed door a moment. The rose fell limp in his hand.

__

Dat went well, Gambit. How did y' end up right where y' started. Y' even got de rose still.

Emma came down the hall then. She didn't halt when she saw Remy, just continued right on by him as she spoke. "I wouldn't bother, Gambit. She's looking forward to her plans with Bobby."

__

Now y' tell me. Gambit headed downstairs. _Merde._

****

~~~~~~~~~~~

"And I know she's not that Foxy but you gotta owe something sometimes. You gotta owe when you're your momma's sunshine. You've got to give something sometimes when you're the sweetest cherry in an apple pie. I need some voodoo on these prunes. In the Springtime of his voodoo, he was going to show me spring…" (In the Springtime of His Voodoo –by Tori Amos)

Rogue really was excited about going out… for several reasons. One—She was being naughty. Beast had ordered her to stay on the mansion grounds once he'd realized she wasn't going to stay in the med lab or even rest in her room. Two—She was tired of being stuck inside all day. Beast had given her a sedative after Jean and Emma had revived her in order to force her to rest. It had worn off in a few hours, but he'd taken advantage of her prone form and her wearing the collar by performing lots of those tests he'd been trying to solicit from her for the last few days.

__

Ya'd think he was a vampire with all the blood he took. What was it, five or six vials? More? And how much ya wanna bet he probably forgot to mention a few of the tests he did while Ah was sedated, too. Ah'm a little sore in certain places...

Three—Beast said he'd have the results of some of those tests that night. Rogue was going to be conveniently unavailable. He could just tell her all the results at once, tomorrow or the next day, when he got them all. 

Four—She was frustrated. She wanted to bust a few heads…

__

Shadow King… Sinister… Magneto…

But, no! Jean, Emma, Xavier and Beast thought that they should rest first, wait for the results of Hank's tests, and formulate a plan.

__

And Gambit, too. Can't forget that scoundrel.

Gambit was just for posterity, though. She really wasn't upset with him. She just didn't like how nervous he made her feel since she had that first episode.

__

Damn near makes my skin crawl whenever he's near me.

And that was reason number… Six—Most of the guys around there were having a similar effect on her. Bobby seemed to be the exception. And Wolverine too, but that was different. Bobby and Wolverine always seemed to be safe lately, for different reasons, mind you, but safe nonetheless.

__

Bobby's more like a gal-friend than a guy-friend. And Wolvie… Ah don't know how to explain that sufficiently. He's not really a father figure to me, not like the Professor is. Probably has more to do with his memories being screwed up worse than mine.

Tonight, she wanted to lash out. She wanted to strike out against her insecurities. She needed to prove she was stronger than the debilitating hesitation that wracked her whenever the men, especially Gambit, got within ten feet of her.

__

Ah'm INVULNERABLE, damn it!

Seven—The collar. She might as well take advantage of it while she was stuck with it, even if she kept forgetting she was wearing it. Jean, Emma, Xavier, and even Beast had insisted that the collar remained on. It helped contain the Shadow King for now and it would grant the others time to formulate a plan to hold him permanently. 

__

That again. Ah'm tired of waitin' while everyone else works on my problems. Why won't they just let me be?

Beast thought it was a good idea to subdue her powers for the time being for her own physical and mental health. In other words, he doubted her sanity. 

__

They all do. Not that that is new.

Hank's preliminary examination of the collars had revealed that they were identical to each other, despite the differing levels of wear and tear, and he had determined no harmful side effects as of yet. He hypothesized that any alterations could have been activated only while it was being worn by Rogue, so her wearing it would allow him to further test it—and her. Besides, he could continue testing the other collar while she wore this one.

Rogue knew exactly how she would make best use of the opportunity the collar availed to her.

__

Since before Ah met Cody, Mystique had been training me in her trades…. 'Bout time Ah made use of some of the more fun ones for me.

Rogue slapped the last high-heeled boot on, grabbed the matching coat, and headed downstairs. She had to keep from being seen by Beast. He'd make her turn right back around and head up to her room. He'd spoil all her fun. So, she moved in silence, like a master thief.

__

"Better if y' be silent as an assassin, fille." Belle's ghost said inside Rogue's mindscape.

__

"Shh, Belle. This is my playtime. Ah don't need your help and Ah definitely ain't sharin'. Gawd, why do y'all always get louder at the most inconvenient times?"

__

"'Cause we hate y', dat's why. 'N dis be as much our opportunity as yer's. 'Sides, looks like y' finally going t' have my kind a fun," Belle's ghost said.

Rogue reached the rec. room. She was meeting Bobby there. She paused at the corner, concealing herself by pressing her back tight against the wall, listening for any signs of Beast's presence inside. A sports program was on the big screen television, but the volume was low enough that she couldn't tell what it was. 

__

"Missing dose heightened senses now, aren't y'?" Belle's ghost said.

__

"Belle, do ya want me to sick HER on ya?"

"…"

__

"Ah thought so."

Rogue focused on the conversation going on in the rec. room as she remained in the hall just outside.

Logan chuckled. "Ain't ya worried 'bout wrinkling your spiffy duds, Gumbo?"

"Shut up, Logan," Remy said, but Rogue heard him shift his position on one of the couches despite his nonchalance about it.

"You know your flower's wilting?" Warren teased.

Gambit didn't respond that time and laughter quickly followed. A moment later, the rose he'd intended for Rogue hit the floor just inches from Rogue's foot. Gambit had obviously tossed it. Rogue snatched the rose from the floor without anyone noticing and was about to enter when she heard footsteps. Someone heavy entered the rec. room from the opposite side of Rogue's intended entranceway.

__

Hope it's not Hank. Rogue thought with a grimace.

"Is Rogue not well, Gambit?" Bishop asked. 

"Non, she be feeling just fine," Gambit said. The sarcasm dripped from his voice.

"She turned him down for another date," Warren supplied happily.

"She's not on a date. She just got plans wit' Popsicle-boy. Probably going to raid de arcade or somet'ing stupid like dat."

"Sure, Gumbo," Logan said.

"So she is doing better, then," Bishop stated flatly. His voice didn't reveal any emotion behind the statement.

"Wouldn't exactly say that, Bub."

"…Oh…" Bishop said. That time there was a hint of dismay in his voice. 

Rogue heard Gambit shift again, followed by, "What dat mean? 'Oh'? Y' know somet'ing, pup?"

Bishop was quiet for a moment, then finally answered, "Nothing."

"Out with it," Logan snapped at him.

Another pause, then, "In my time, there were… rumors. That's all."

__

Don't need to be hearing no rumors 'bout how crazy Ah get in the future, Rogue thought as she entered. 

She appeared to them, like out of nothingness, into the dimly lit entranceway. She moved as sleek as a cat, lithe, graceful, contained, and controlled. Each step, sway of her hips, swing of her arms, flick of her wrist, tilt of her head—every gesture—was precise and measured. It could have been called prowling if she hadn't intended every nuance to be viewed by everyone in the room. She was a predator. 

Every head turned to take her in. She was dressed in an outfit that resembled her uniform in that it was dark, form fitted, and it covered her from high on her neck to her wrists and presumably to her ankles. But that was were the similarities ended. The fabric was thin, almost sheer, and clung so close to her it was like a second skin. It looked like she was dipped in green ink so dark it could be mistaken for black. High healed, soft leather boots the same color reached to a point high on her thighs and were held in place by black metal buckles that attached to the thighs of the outfit. It was startling since the material didn't seem heavy enough to support the weight of the boots. But the boots were as form fitting and as mobile as the outfit itself and could hold themselves up with just their grip on her legs. A matching coat was draped over one forearm. Her short, white streaked hair was enticingly mussed. The collar was a poignant exclamation to her demeanor. She was like a panther escaped from the zoo.

Someone put the television on mute.

She said nothing, did nothing to acknowledge them, but they all knew she was aware of each and every one of them as she stood there. One hip was thrust to the side, her weight shifted onto it. Her legs were apart and the one that wasn't supporting her weight was bent just enough to bring attention to the shapely length of it, from the tip of her boot, to the purposeful bend of the knee, to the slight crook in that hip. She knew they were drinking in the sight of her and she let them have their fill. She took the moment to adjust, unnecessarily, the sleeves, tugging them toward her bare wrists and hands. The movement brought the room's attention to the free-for-all condition of her glove-less hands. 

She knew how they saw her—that her demeanor made them think dirty thoughts—and she enjoyed it. No, she relished it.

Wolverine spoke first, lifting the curtain of silence, heavy with their masculine arousal. His voice was nearly a growl, "Take it your not planning on hitting the arcade, darlin'." 

She looked up then, making eye contact for the first time with any of them. She met Logan's knowing gaze and held it. 

"Dieu, chere…" Remy stammered, sounding like it took a lot of concentration to have kept it from cracking, "y' look…"

"Dangerous," Bishop supplied.

"Why thank ya, Sugar," Rogue purred. Her voice was like molasses—syrupy, cloying, saccharine, lush, and tantalizingly dark. She gave an impish grin and held it as she took the two slovenly paces that made her the direct target of the track lighting.

Surprise! Under the direct light, the secret of Rogue's outfit was disclosed. The entire upper half was so sheer in its translucence that it seemed to disappear. The only telling sign of the fabric's presence was the hazy tinting of her creamy skin. Her black satin bra was completely visible. Though the entire outfit was one piece, the deceptive invisibility of the top transformed into the still solid fabric of what appeared to be shorts. The waist of the shorts arced over her hips on both sides, following her natural shape. The downward curves dipped into a point well below her bellybutton, but not crudely low. The buckles attaching the suit to the thigh high boots marked the bottom seam of the shorts. From there down, it was sheer again.

Warren stifled a loud gulp, covering it up by clearing his throat. Bishop raised one brow. Wolverine openly adjusted himself; his jeans were suddenly tighter. Gambit, well, Gambit became his cocky, charming self. It was like a switch was flipped on. Starting with his eyes, which lit with wickedness, his familiar visage rippled down him. He grinned lasciviously and stalked around the couch, aiming straight for Rogue. 

Rogue didn't flinch when he stepped right up to her, close enough that a deep breath would make them touch.

He spoke just loud enough for Rogue to hear, asking, "How y' manage to hide de panty line?" 

"Trade secret," Rogue said with her throaty, molasses voice.

Footsteps coming from down the hall diverted their attention to the arrival of Bobby. When Bobby saw Rogue, his eyes lit with glee and he smiled in appreciation.

Rogue turned, managing to keep from making physical contact with Remy so effortlessly it seemed it was accidental. Her pivot gave the others their first glance at the back of her outfit. It mirrored the design of the front almost identically, the dipping point of the top of the shorts just as carefully not low enough to be crude. 

Gambit admired this new view from his convenient position. His hand instinctively traced the curve of the small of her back from a mere inch away.

"Rogue, you look scrumptious," Bobby said happily. His exclamation drew Gambit away from his admiration of Rogue, which solicited an angry glare from Gambit.

Gambit looked Bobby over, assessing him. Bobby wore loose fitting black leather pants over matching black leather boots. His shirt was made of the same material as Rogue's outfit, though his was completely solid and wouldn't become transparent like Rogue's did when she stepped into direct light. It also wasn't as tight as hers was. His draped from his shoulders loosely, swinging freely at his waist and wrists. Oh, and his was blue-black not green-black like Rogue's. It brought out the sapphire of his eyes as fiercely as Rogue's brought out the emerald of hers.

Bobby made no acknowledgment of either Gambit's assessment of him or how he had been admiring Rogue. Still, Gambit pulled his hand away from Rogue, crossed both arms over his chest, and said, "Now isn't dis cute. Y' two almost match."

"Ah think he looks sexy," Rogue said with that throaty molasses voice of hers.

"Uh-oh," Logan said with a grim chuckle. Warren echoed him, snickering.

"Dat right, chere?" Gambit said, ignoring the others. His voice and eyes smoldered equally. _Remy be trussed up, but popsicle-boy be sexy. Remy, t'inking maybe y' not be well enough to be going out after all. _

"Yup. But then, Ah did buy it for him, so Ah'm a might bit biased," Rogue answered. 

Bobby looked Gambit over then. He noted Gambit's attire and asked, "Gambit coming with us?" His voice was matter-of-fact. It didn't matter to him either way.

__

Dat's a good idea. What y' say, petite, y' like dat idea as much as me? This thought, of course, was not reflected in Gambit outwardly.

"Nope," Rogue said as she moved to Bobby and held her coat out to him. "Just us, Sugar."

"You gonna let me in on where we're going?" Bobby asked as he took the coat from Rogue and helped her into it. The action was smooth, familiar, like they did it every day. It grated Remy, whose hand slipped inside one of the inner pockets of his tux jacket and fingered a playing card.

"Nope. It's a surprise," Rogue teased with her molasses voice as she buttoned closed the coat and adjusted it. It was deceptively lightweight. It clung to the curves of her shoulders, chest, waist, and hips—where it flared in a flowing princess cut that ended just above the knee. The match of its color to her outfit and boots was uncanny.

Rogue met Gambit with a steely gaze as she smoothed the draping, flowing material over her waist, hips and thighs, then raised the billowing hood to frame her face. It hid her distinctive white streak and the collar perfectly. 

Something in the gesture alerted Gambit—and Logan, who stepped up beside Gambit, too. Logan was tense with the buzzing warning that his heightened senses relayed to him because of a change in her scent. He smelled the challenge in her. Gambit's empathic sense picked up on the underlying danger of her daring, no, warning of him and Wolverine.

"Y' behave y'self tonight, chere," Gambit said as he eyed Rogue warily. Bobby seemed oblivious, so Gambit warned further, "Remy may not be dere to rescue y'."

"Now what makes ya think Ah need or even want ya to come to my rescue?" Rogue cooed, pulling Bobby toward the foyer.

"Hank approve of this, darlin'?" Wolverine said in an attempt to dissuade Rogue from whatever possible dangerous activity he figured she had planned.

Before she and Bobby disappeared down the hall, Rogue mock pouted, purring, "Ya'll ain't gonna tattle on me, are ya?" 

"Gambit don't like dis," Gambit said to Wolverine, hinting at his intentions to follow them.

"We're borrowin' your bike, Remy, ya won't mind, right?" Rogue called back, trailed by "Thanks, Sugar." 

The front door slammed shut.

"Merde!" 

"Don't worry, Gumbo," Logan promised, "I'll take care of it."

****

~~~~~~~~~~~

"And right there for a minute, I knew you so well. Got an angry snatch. Girls you know what I mean. When swiveling that hip doesn't do the trick. Me pureed sanitarily, Mr. Sulu, Warp speed—Warp speed—Warp speed. In the Springtime of his voodoo, every road leads back to my door, every road I will follow, every road leads back to my door. Got all your crosses loaded…" (Springtime of his Voodoo –by Tori Amos)

Rogue whipped Bobby through the night in blur of an adrenaline rush. Rogue sped them from Westchester to New York City on Gambit's restored Harley. Bobby had never driven it before, so Rogue did the honors, and Bobby happily held on. They parked the bike in what Rogue insisted was a secure spot and then she led Bobby on a winding trail through alleys, up fire escapes, over buildings and through passages that were invisible to the common passerby. 

Rogue moved with a grace, agility, and knowledge that Bobby never knew she possessed. He raced to keep up, splitting his focus between maintaining her speed and her stealth. She seemed confident of his capability, only checking back on him after the more strenuous motions. She never asked if he understood what they were doing or if he objected to it. 

__

Of course she wouldn't. She's seen my memories. She knows what nobody else knows. She knows Gambit trained me for this. She knows how much I love it.

They'd doubled back twice and diverted their route more times than he could count before he realized Rogue was confusing any trials they were leaving well enough to make it difficult for even Logan to effectively follow them. Finally, they reached the roof of the building of their target. 

__

That's right, target. This has to be a pinch. God, it's been too long! I'd forgotten! [3]

They concealed themselves beside the central-air conditioning units on the roof. Bobby took the opportunity to catch his breath and quiet his racing heartbeat. His blood thundered in his ears. Rogue was sweating and breathing hard as well, but she was composed, focused, and glowing. 

"Is this Gambit's or…" he actually stumbled over the next part, he'd never spoken of it to anyone other than Gambit, "…or mine?" He asked curiously.

"There's a little of both ya'll in it, yeah, and others too Ah suspect." She turned an impish grin on him. "But mostly it's me. Ah have my mother's ways. Ah was Mystique's protégé."

Bobby recognized the barest differences in those last two proclamations. Both times she meant Mystique. But something about the way she said it hinted at something more. Before he could comment she whispered, "It's all related." 

Then she took off across the roof and through a maintenance door. He caught up with her one flight of stairs down. She paused long enough to see he was following, then moved, quiet as a cat, to the door at the end of the hall. By the placement of it in the corridor, Bobby guessed that the penthouse it opened into took up at least half of the top floor. He knelt beside Rogue, who was listening at the door for sounds within. She smiled and slipped him the exact electronic device needed to break the code to the security device. In a few moments, Bobby had disabled it. He passed the device back to her and she slipped him the necessary picks for the door's manual lock. Bobby took them eagerly and set to work. In short time, the tumblers fell into place. Rogue listened for the inhabitants and then nodded. 

They entered. Bobby followed Rogue along the wall, slipping past closed and opened doors with confidence, purpose, and ease. When they reached the den they entered and closed the door behind them. 

They didn't turn on any lights, and Bobby didn't think Rogue had a flashlight. Considering how she was dressed he doubted she had any place to put it, though he still couldn't tell where she hid the picks and the electronic device he had used on the security system. A little light seeped in from under the door and more light bloomed from an inlaid display case so they could at least detect the locale of large furniture, the desk and it's chairs, a love seat and it's smaller match, and the small table between them. 

They both searched they the room and found the safe in the false bottom the display case, which was filled with plaques, pictures and commendations for charity work and large donations. This time, Bobby didn't wait to be prompted.

It was a complicated locking system on the safe. It was triple locked, actually, a manual combination lock, a key released tumbler, and an electronic coding system. Bobby stopped his undertaking and lifted his gloved hands a few inches above the safe itself.

__

What's with this. It's a small safe. This is a private residence. The rest of the place seems normal enough, though not meager in the least. There are family photos on the wall, for crying out loud. Kids live here! What could they have that would require this type of safe security?

Rogue understood his hesitation. She crouched beside him, placed one hand on his shoulder—her bared fingers stroked his bare neck, just at the hairline behind his ear—and she leaned in to his ear. Her breath brushed his ear before he heard her molasses whisper. 

"It's stolen, Bobby… it's hot, all right."

Bobby balled his hands into fists to fight back the sudden tremble in them as she spoke into his ear. 

"Don't be fooled by the pleasantries," she reassured.

As Bobby steadied his breathing, his blood racing, Rogue passed him the electronic device and the necessary picks again. Bobby set back to working the safe open. 

"What's in here?" he asked without looking at her. It was hard not to, though. She hadn't moved away when she stopped whispering in his ear and her fingers continued to stroke his neck in a soothing rhythm.

"A kiss on the hand may be quite continental," she sang with a throaty whisper, "but diamonds are a girl's best friend." She planted a quick peck on his cheek and moved back to give him some room.

Bobby smiled and finished opening the safe with renewed vigor. Sure enough, he found a black velvet bag filled with about thirty diamonds. He pulled it out, handed it to Rogue, and was about to reseal the safe when Rogue's glove-less hand stopped him. She reached into the safe and pulled out a small manila envelope. Rogue slid its contents out. There were seven pictures. They were all of the two young girls that were in the family photos in the hall. These photos from the safe were not fit for guests, though. Each picture depicted one or both of the girls in compromising poses. Each picture they looked at was worse than the previous. Hell, the father was even in some of them. These were a molester's prized possessions. These were the real reason for the complicated lock.

Rogue went still beside Bobby. 

"Starfucker just like my Daddy, just like my Daddy, selling his baby. Just like my Daddy…" (Professional Widow –by Tori Amos)

A few moments passed before she released her breath in an angry sigh. She dropped the photos and stormed out of the room. Bobby scrambled to put everything back and properly reseal the safe. Then he took off after her. 

"Slag pit. Stag shit. Honey bring it close to my lips—Yes…" (Professional Widow –by Tori Amos)

He crept through the sleeping penthouse and finally found Rogue as she dragged the father, gagged into forced silence, out of his bedroom. He was bent back awkwardly as she held one bare hand to the underside of his chin and pinched his nose shut with her other hand. He was too busy trying to squeeze air through his gag to even try to holler through it. She pulled him past Bobby and into the den. Bobby returned and shut the door behind him. 

"Rogue, what are you doing?" Bobby asked in a startled whisper. She made no response.

He moved towards them and saw that Rogue had dropped the man in the middle of the room. She was standing over him, one foot on either side of his waist. The toes of her boots pinched his elbows to the floor. She slipped her hand inside her coat and back out again so quickly, Bobby almost missed it. She had something exotic in her hand, but Bobby couldn't tell what. He moved closer as she crouched down, straddling his chest. She made a sudden, circling like motion with her arms that Bobby couldn't figure out since her body blocked most of the movement from his view. He moved along side them to watch from a better angle.

"Rogue?!" He gasped when he saw the glint of silver wire encircling the man's throat, making an X over the man's Adam's apple. 

Rogue had a garrote. She gripped the black handles that tipped both ends of a fine, sharp wire with a familiar ease that Bobby found frightening. She handled the garrote expertly. There was no sign of slack on the wire, but it didn't crease or dimple the man's skin either.

"…Don't blow those brains yet. We gotta be big, boy. We gotta be big. Starfucker, just like my Daddy. Just like my Daddy, selling his baby, just like my Daddy. Gonna make a deal make him feel like a Congressman—It runs in the family…" (Professional Widow –by Tori Amos)

"Ah should kill ya," she whispered to the man. She was seething mad. 

"There is no punishment, no torture bad enough," she hissed. 

She remembered the multitude of plaques of appreciation from homeless shelters, mutant and minority rights organizations, and disease research foundations that filled the display case that also contained the secret safe. 

"There is no charity that is charitable enough… There is nothing—NOTHING—that could evah make up for what ya have done to your little girls." 

Her grip tightened; her wrists flexed.

"Rogue, don't!" But, the wire had not tightened. Bobby released his breath in a long sigh.

"Ah should kill ya," Rogue purred again. There was nothing sexy about it that time.

"You can't do this, Rogue," Bobby soothed.

Rogue released the man. She spun and moved to the bookcase beside the display case, putting her back to Bobby and the man. She quaked with contained fury. The garrote dangled from one hand, its one dropped handle swung, brushing the floor.

"Bobby, open the safe," Rogue ordered so quietly he wasn't sure if she said it or he thought it himself. He did it, regardless. He didn't need her to instruct him on what else to do. He knew. He took out the pictures and stuffed them into his back pocket. He didn't even try to give them to her. He knew she wouldn't, couldn't, touch them again. 

"Got 'em," Bobby said, but Rogue didn't respond and for some reason Bobby couldn't bring himself to look at her. 

Bobby didn't bother closing the safe. It would be fitting that the man would have to do it himself, that he would have to see for himself exactly what was stolen, what was lost. 

Bobby looked to the man, still where Rogue had left him. The man's bedclothes were rumpled and darkened with sweat. The man's chest jerked with panicked breaths that bordered on hyperventilating. His eyes were wide. His hands were forgotten at his sides. He hadn't even tried to free himself of the gag. 

__

Why bother? He has no voice here… And he'll never feel free now that someone knows… Now that we know, Bobby realized.

Rogue's rhythmic murmurs drew Bobby's hesitant attention to her. He listened closely and found the sound familiar. He moved to her then. Her eyes were shut, her face screwed tight and her lips twitched against her staccato repetition, "thesepreciousthings letthembleed letthemwashaway letthembreaktheirholdoverme thesepreciousthings letthembleed letthemwashaway letthembreaktheirholdoverme…" They were lyrics from Tori Amos' song, _Precious Things_. Rogue had listened to a lot of Tori Amos at full volume, blotting out all other sounds.

__

Especially those inside her head, Bobby thought, sadly.

He tried to pick the words from the desperate rhythm that crowded them. After some concentration he could make them out. She was saying, "…over me these precious things let them bleed let them wash away let them break their hold over me."

He tenderly grasped her wrist to soothe her. Her eyes snapped open, but didn't turn to him, and her words rushed on. She was really starting to scare him. She was reminding him of how she had behaved just before that first episode. He couldn't let that happen again. 

He stroked her hair and spoke softly to her. He didn't pay attention to what he said just to how he said it. He was comforting, reassuring, strengthening. He maintained his own rhythm with his speech and slowly hers began to match his. She blinked and seemed to come back to herself, yet he continued talking. Now that she was calming, he wanted to get the weapon from her. He slid his hand from her wrist, over her hand, and past the garrote's handle.

"It's sharp," she warned a moment before his hand closed on the wire. She was looking at him, aware, so he withdrew his hand from the garrote.

"We should go," she said as she wound the garrote and put it away. 

Bobby nodded, Rogue raised the hood of her coat, and they vacated the penthouse as silently as they had entered, though without the stealth. The silence then was different. It was heavy. It matched their slouched posture and dragged pace.

They didn't talk for a long time. They wandered slowly along the city streets. The only destination they had in mind was their arrival at coming to terms with what had just happened during the pinch. Their destination was the same and different all at once. Their issues were the same and different all at once. They both took it to heart for the same reason, though… for the sake of Rogue.

__

I had my suspicions before, Bobby though, _but that cinched it… Her father abused her… Rotten bastard… If I knew who he was, where he was, if she'd tell me, tell any of us… Hell, I'd bring Gambit in… and Wolverine… and Storm and Bishop and Beast and Stacy X, hell, we'd all bring him down. It'd be a free-for-all!_

Bobby glanced sideways at Rogue. Her hood was still pulled up so he couldn't see her face. He looked her over, tried to read her body language. She was no longer slouched—_That's good, isn't it?_--her hands were balled into tight fists, her knuckles just visible past the cuff of her coat. She moved at his slow pace, but her heels smacked the ground with every step as though she were stomping on something—_Someone?_

Bobby looked ahead again.

__

Does she really know? Well, I think she knows, but does she KNOW? Does she REMEMBER? …Does she even have to? Could she face it, deal with it, only knowing that it happened, though not exactly what happened?

Bobby kicked a beer can ahead of him.

__

Ah suspected, but that clinched it… That man and my poppa… they're both the same… Rotten bastards… Bet if I told Bobby, he'd tell Remy and Wolverine… and everyone else… Ha! What would they do? They know about stuff like this, everyone knows about stuff like this. It always gets ratings for the news, always sells papers. But they don't KNOW about stuff like this--

__

"Remy does, chere," Remy's ghost said in Rogue's mindscape.

__

"Shut up, Gambit. Ah'm thinkin' here,' Rogue replied to him.

__

"He does, Rogue. He tol' me… He'd understand…He could help y',{" Belle's ghost admitted.

__

"Shush, Belle, an' mind your own business…"

"I heard things about the pup. Even a good-fer-nuthin' turncoat like him would help you," Creed's ghost offered.

"Not you too, Sabertooth. Gawd, ya'll, just leave me be… Not like ya'll care anyway. Prob'ly find it fitting, like some kind of pre-retribution."

"_Dat be de most insulting t'ing I ever heard!" _Belle's ghost complained, "_I may not like y' much, Rogue, but don't nobody deserve--*_

"Ah said SHUT UP!*

"I'm just—"

"Ah'll fetch HER, Ah will, Ah swear it, Belle, Creed."

__

"…Fine…"

"Gawd, even the people that hate me are feelin' sorry for me… Ah don't need your help. Ah can handle this all on my own, ya'll here me?!"

Rogue felt Bobby watching her and she had to fight to keep from glaring at him. When he turned away, she peaked past the edge of her hood at him.

He means well. And he really has been great 'bout all of this. Don't think Ah could ever thank him enough. She sighed, releasing the tension from her entire body out through that breathy escape. "_Well, my bein' broody and pissy all night sure ain't much of a thank ya, sir._

She stopped and lowered the hood. Bobby stopped too, he was happy to see that her expression wasn't pained or even angry. In fact, she seemed a little excited.

__

Heah goes… She took a breath. "Bobby? Ya'll got a pen? Ah've got an idea—a way of exorcising my demons. Some of them at least."

Bobby nodded. He understood, a little. Under her instruction, he wrote a note on the envelope with the pictures of the little girls in it. They then went to the closest police precinct. Rogue distracted the desk clerk as Bobby sneaked the pictures onto a conspicuous spot on the desk—under the desk clerk's Styrofoam cup of coffee.

Outside, Bobby beamed as they laughed about what they did. They wished they could see the man's face when the cops showed up. Bobby thought reporting the man would be therapeutic for her. And the way she seemed now only confirmed that it was. She looked as though a part of the weight was lifted off her shoulders. Her laugher was genuine. The mischievous gleam in her eyes no longer seemed menacing. He wanted it to never go away again. He knew that wasn't realistic, but for the night, well, that was plausible.

Bobby grabbed her bare hand with his bare hand and pulled her down the street away from the precinct. "I've got an idea of my own, Rogue. You feel like clubbing?"

"Do Ah ever," Rogue exclaimed with a laugh.

Bobby brought her to a building no more than a block away and on the opposite side of the street as the precinct. It was a club that Gambit had brought him too, back when he was training Bobby to be a thief. It wasn't a Guild club, per se, but was frequented by Guild members, and so was a sort of neutral zone. Bobby had always liked the place, more than Gambit, who Bobby believed had only gone to it for Guild purposes or when Bobby had begged. Bobby thought Rogue would love it most of all though.

Rogue's eyes lit up when they entered. The club was seedy and spirited and classy all at once. The walls were natural brick, the trimming was a dark wood, and the fixtures were silver. Aesthetically, it was gothic-techno, and though that was the type of music that predominated, eighties music also was mixed in. Right then, actually, Nancy Sinatra's These Boots were Made for Walking was playing. 

Bobby was rewarded with Rogue slipping off her coat, grinning broadly at him, and asking, "Wanna dance?"

"Oh yeah," Bobby said, not even trying to hide his enthusiasm. 

They had a blast. They danced and danced. Sometimes they danced with each other, sometimes with others. Rogue was never at a loss for partners or just admirers.

__

Who wouldn't want a chance… ha ha!… Especially wearing that outfit. 

Bobby leaned against the wall near where Rogue danced, just watching her. He'd stopped dancing about twenty minutes earlier. Nobody there interested him as much as Rogue did that night. He was amazed by her. She had retaken the night with reckless abandon, the healthy kind. It made him happy to see her behaving so freely with her lack of powers. He had been momentarily wary about bringing her to the club. He had feared that the close confines, the press of so many people combined with the lack of her powers would've overwhelmed her. She'd once confided in him how scared she was of casual contact when the Evolutionary—and Sinister—had taken away all mutants' abilities. And considering what Rogue was dealing with lately, well, it could have been disastrous to say the very least.

Bobby sipped his beer and watched. He hadn't drank much, like Rogue, he hadn't wanted inebriation to erase any memory of the night. Right then, Rogue was dancing with a very sexy man, Bobby admitted. He had sweaty ebony hair that was all one length and reached just past his chin, and dark, mysterious amber-brown eyes. He wore all black, as was common in most clubs, and his loose clothing clung to his sweaty, well-defined body. Their movements matched the erotic, heaving rhythms of the song. The man's body, a few inches taller than Rogue's, tucked around her from behind, knees bent slightly, hips thrust back, backs arched. There wasn't even room for light to pass between them. Their legs were parted with one of his between hers so that it caressed her upper inner thighs with their rocking motions. 

Rogue raised her arms above her and back to sway with the song's change into what effectively was its chorus. The man took it as an invitation. He placed his head between her arm and her face, nuzzling her despite the collar.

__

Maybe he thought it was a Goth thing, Bobby thought with a chuckle. 

In response, she wrapped her arms around his head, still moving with the music. The man took that as another signal, another invitation. He confidently grabbed her hips, pressed her firmly, and slowly dragged his hands up the sides of her body. When he neared her ribs, Rogue caught Bobby's face and saw the slight jealousy that marred it. She hadn't danced that way with Bobby. It surprised her a little, his slight jealous expression. She knew he'd had a crush on her a while back, but thought he'd dropped it. They were such good friends and he'd never pressed the issue. 

__

He doesn't seem as upset as Gambit would be. He probably just doesn't approve. Ah guess that makes sense. Ah am taken at the moment… well, Ah'm sort of with Gambit right now… When Ah can stand to be near him… 'Sides there wasn't a song like this playing when we were dancing… Aw heck! Think of Gambit and this ain't so much fun anymore. Ah ain't cheating or anything, but still! Damn Cajun, swamp rat…

Rogue politely excused herself from her dance partner. She got a drink and joined Bobby.

"Hey, Sugar, why ain't ya dancing? That blonde seemed to really like you…"

"I wasn't really interested," Bobby said and took a gulp of his beer. _God, I can feel the heat of her…_

Rogue sighed, sipped her drink—a tall Long Island iced tea—and leaned against the wall beside him. "She was kind of a ditz," she said.

"Yeah…" His voice was quiet, sullen.

"What's wrong, Bobby? Ya tired? Ya wanna go?" Rogue asked as she turned sideways, still leaning against the wall, to look at him better.

"No, you're having fun…" he said and sat down his beer on the table directly beside him, opposite Rogue. He straightened again. He could feel her near him, like there was no space between them at all. _She's so warm._

"Ah don't mind. Ah'm starting to get tired myself."

"Really, I'm fine. I just don't feel like dancing anymore." He turned his head to look at her. "Besides I liked watching you—" _She's so close._ "—Liked watching you enjoying yourself," he covered. "You needed it."

Rogue grinned, "Thanks, Sugar." 

Then she kissed him. 

It was only a peck, but it surprised him… pleasantly. He didn't even notice he'd grabbed her waist and pressed the kiss, opened his mouth to her, until he felt the salty sweet silk of her lips with his tongue… 

__

My tongue!

He let go of her waist, pulled his face away, and looked at her. Her eyes were wide with shock.

"I'm sorry… I shouldn't have… I just… tonight… all the excitement…" He stammered through the rushed explanation.

Rogue smiled sweetly, "It's all right. " She stepped back, but not away. She wanted to distance herself from him, but not _distance_ herself from him.

Bobby was aware of the difference and still it made his heart sink. He felt it plop right into his stomach. He really wasn't sorry that he'd kissed her. He'd wanted to do it for a long time, but he'd thought he'd resigned himself to just being her friend. Maybe he was just kidding himself. He'd always wonder if he never tried, but he never had the guts to, but he just did, and he wanted more, but he wanted to keep her as his friend…

__

Damn! Now what do I do? She's not angry. But she moved away, but she didn't leave, and she's smiling. Did she like it? Should I do it again, she's not out of reach, I could--

"Good thing Remy wasn't here, though," Rogue said, making his decision for him. "The way he's been acting lately, he wouldn't have been too forgiving. Don't worry, though, Sh won't tell. It's just between you and me."

__

"And all of us, chere… Don't forget we caught that too," Gambit's ghost said with hostility.

"Awww, shush, Remy."

Bobby didn't respond to Rogue's smoothing over the situation. He kept eye contact with her with awkward, hurt intensity. Then he broke it and looked down.

Rogue leaned back against the wall and sipped her drink. Their silence was uncomfortable for the first time in what must have been ages. Rogue hated it. She took a large gulp of her drink and looked away, looked to the darkest corner of the club.

"Had me a trick and a kick and your message—well you'll never gain weight from a doughnut hole—then thought that I could decipher your message—There's no one here dear—No one at all—" (Doughnut Song –by Tori Amos)

Something caught her eye there, gave her pause, made her breath catch.

There was a couple there in the dark, in early phases of seduction, seated on a small carmine couch. The woman lit a cigarette, lighting their features, though distorting them with yellow light and deep shadows created by the small flame of her lighter.

"And southern men can grow gold, can grow pretty. Blood can be pretty like a delicate man. Copper to steel to a hinge that is faltered that let's you in let's you in let's you in. Something's just keeping you numb—" (Doughnut Song –by Tori Amos)

The man reminded her of someone. The stubble peppered, not quite square jaw-line, the tousled red-brown bangs hanging over his shadowed eyes, the cocky tilt of the head, the arrogant sit of shoulders, they way attention was drawn to that lovely toned chest to the rippling stomach to the slim sensual hips was all so familiar. The woman trailed a finger down that chest and stomach.

__

It can't be… He wouldn't… Ah'm imagining things… Ah have to be.

But Rogue took another big gulp of her drink and still continued watching. The woman's hand that traversed the man's body held her cigarette. When it reached his thigh, the pale red glow from the burning tip illuminated the man's hands shuffling…

__

Playing cards! That Swamp Rat!

Rogue took another, albeit angry, gulp of her drink. The man put away the cards with a mere flick of his wrist. Then he slid his own hand up the woman's thigh, over her hip and… A small jerk whipped her onto his lap! The woman laughed and kicked her feet playfully against the arm of the couch. She kissed him… And he kissed her back. He wrapped his arms around her waist and she moved to straddle his lap.

Rogue looked away. She couldn't watch anymore. She stared numbly into her drink, at the dark amber colored Long Island Iced Tea with its ice cubes glittering like jewels.

"Mother Mary, china white, brown may be sweeter. She will supply. She will supply. She will supply…" (Professional Widow –by Tori Amos)

Rogue downed the rest of her drink, gladdened to be feeling its effects so quickly, and took one final sideways glance at Gambit and his strumpet.

"And if I'm wasting all your time, this time. I think you never learned to take. And if I'm hanging on to your shade, I guess I'm way behind the pale…" (Doughnut Song –by Tori Amos)

__

"Ignore it, chere… It's not what y' t'ink," Remy's ghost said in Rogue's mindscape.

"Ha! That's good, comin' from y'," Belle's ghost chided.

"Don't do it, chere… Please…" Remy's ghost pleaded.

_ ****_

"It'll serve ya right, Sugah," added the shimmering voice and the others backed quickly away.

Rogue set her empty glass on a nearby table and spun to face Bobby, who was still leaning against the wall in sullen admonition.

"Ah changed my mind."

She kissed him for real.

__

She's kissing me!

He opened his mouth to her and she plunged inside. He loved the taste of her, the feel of her against him. He kissed her back like he could drink her into himself. He hadn't moved to touch her with his hands, though. He didn't want to do anything that could end it. He let it just be his mouth on hers, his tongue, her tongue. He took full advantage of her mouth, savored her hands on him, and relished it all in case she changed her mind again.

__

Oh my God, her hands…

He felt her hands move from the sides of his face to his chest, his waist, to his pants. One hand slid under his shirt and up and he shivered.

__

I can't believe this is happening… but thank you, thank you...

Her other hand gripped the top of his pants. Her forefinger slid inside and caressed his hip, which thrust instinctively at her touch.

Rogue moved the kiss along his jaw to his neck below his ear as one hand caressed him under his shirt and the other one… the other one stroked the bare skin of his hip. Bobby couldn't help himself, he'd wanted this for so long, wanted it so bad for never having it, for never thinking he'd ever have the chance. He wrapped his arms around her and held her tightly against him. He knew she could feel how much he wanted this by what pressed firmly against her lower stomach, but he didn't care. No, he did care. He wanted her to know. 

He threw his head back and sighed a quiet moan.

****

~~~~~~~~~~~

__

What are ya playin' at, darlin'? Wolverine thought as he watched the exchange between Bobby and Rogue. Then he flicked his attention to Gambit and the bimbo on Gambit's lap. Logan had surreptitiously seated himself at a shadowed table where he could watch both parties.

__

Yer being stupid, Cajun… Just couldn't contain yourself, could ya… Just had to push it…

He took a swig of his beer and a drag of his cheroot. 

__

Kids!

****

~~~~~~~~~~~

"Devoted satellite. Happy for you. And I'm sure that I hate you. Two sons too many too many able fires—" (Doughnut Song –by Tori Amos)

From his spot behind and under the cover of the woman, Gambit watched Rogue laying it on thick with Bobby. It wasn't good enough, his cover, he'd realized too late. 

__

Too good, y' mean, Gambit… When she saw y'…

****

~~~~~~~~~~~

"…And if I'm hanging on to your shade, I guess I'm way behind the pale..." (_Doughnut Song_ –by Tori Amos)

"Ya want to get out of here?" Rogue breathed the question into Bobby's ear, then sucked the tip of his earlobe into her mouth. "Want to go someplace more private?"

Rogue slid her hand along the top of his pants, one finger grazing his bare skin there all the way across until she reached the button that, if released, would send it all spiraling out of control. 

Bobby couldn't think, only feel her against him, so many places, so many ways she was touching him… Sensory overload.

He turned his head away; he had to think, had to be rational. Rogue wasn't and didn't seem to want him to be either, and that bothered him. He scanned the club, trying to distance himself from her touch, her lips, her hands, the press of her against him, so little separating them, only a few thin layers of clothing. He had to think straight, struggle past the pounding of the music, the pounding of his blood.

__

She can't really want this, can she? She loves Gambit. Despite everything, I know she does. I wish it was me, but it's him she loves… But I might never get this chance again… So why now? Why so fast? Is this another episode? Something new? One of the ghosts in her head, then?…

Motion in the darkest corner of the club caught his attention. His eyes met furious red on black eyes just as the man to whom they belonged moved the woman off his lap and stood up. At the same time, Bobby inhaled the sweet scent of Rogue's perfume and her sweat. It was all too much and he loved it, but…A card began to glow in the man's hand, held just for Bobby to see half-hidden under the man's coat. 

Gambit… of course…

"Sometimes I breathe you in and I know you know. And sometimes you take a swim. Found your writing on my wall. If my heart's soaking wet, boy your boots can leave a mess—" (Hey Jupiter –by Tori Amos)

"Rogue… no…" Bobby said, shaking his head, and carefully pushed her back.

She was confused… even hurt. Bobby felt betrayed… used… jealous. A part of him really wanted to say, Screw it—it's Rogue's choice. But a larger more sensible part spoke instead.

"Not like this." He took hold of her hands; he couldn't let go of her completely. "I want to, I do. God, do I. But I want you to… not just want to get back at Remy."

Her eyes flicked to Gambit then. It was only for a split second, but Bobby saw it. That confirmed his suspicions. His heart sank… again. Plop, right to his knees that time. 

"I'm going to leave now, okay." He raised her hands to his lips, made her face him. 

She bit her lip and nodded. 

"I'm not mad, okay, Rogue." 

She nodded. 

An amused grin spread across his face, even reaching his eyes a little as he said, "If you ever decide you really want this, for real, I'll be more than happy to deliver…"

She laughed then. It made Bobby very happy, happier than when she was kissing him and touching him, he realized with a start. And that, that made him laugh in return. He gave her knuckles a quick peck, then slipped away.

****

~~~~~~~~~~~

__

Good going, Bobby…

Wolverine smiled and released a slow puff of smoke. He sighed as he settled back into his chair.

__

Don't know if I could've done the same… He chuckled with his own amusement. _She sure made a tempting enough offer. Hehe._

Logan watched Bobby nod to Gambit as Bobby passed. Gambit only narrowed his eyes at Bobby, but he let the card simmer out and put it away. The woman looked from Gambit to Bobby to Rogue and back to Gambit. She grabbed Gambit's arm to pull him back to her on the couch, but Gambit shrugged her off like she were something dirty, something vile. He was taking out his anger at Bobby on this girl who had been his cover. He stared at Rogue and started towards her.

__

Damn it, Cajun! Just leave it alone.

****

~~~~~~~~~~~

Rogue held one hand up to keep Gambit from getting any closer. He was only a few feet away and that was too close as it was, right then.

"Save it, Remy." 

__

"'Y tell him, Rogue. Dirty, rotten, two-timing scoundrel never could keep it in his pants." Belle's ghost said inside Rogue's mindscape.

"Shush, Belle… Roguey, chere… Give us a chance to explain," Gambit's ghost countered.

_ ****_

"No, Belle's right, Sugah… All o' 'em are worthless… They'll only hurt y'… 'Cept Bobby, maybe… He's like Cody was. Y'all can go aftah him." Again, the others backed away with the shimmering voice's onset. All except for one.

"Such a tasty fear here," The Shadow King said.

"Shuddup—all of ya'll."

__

All of us? Gambit wondered. His eyes flicked to the collar then back to her face. He remembered Antartica then—how the voices got louder when her powers were negated. 

"Ah don't want none of it," she said and moved to leave.

"Y' just going to keep shutting me out, den?" Remy snapped, catching her arm to stop her. 

She stayed turned away though. 

"Push me till I finally leave y' alone for good? That y' big plan? That what y' want? Well, sorry to disappoint, but Remy be staying, chere. I won't be leaving… I can't… I love y', Rogue. Don' y' see?"

"Really?" Rogue said, spinning back to face him, "Is that what ya were doing when ya was pawin' that bimbo?"

"Oui," Remy conceded quietly, but holding her steely gaze. "It's exactly what it was."

"So that was me grindin' away in your lap. Ah'm sorry. Ah though it was someone else."

"Oui, Rogue. In a way, it was y'."

"Your so full of it, Remy," Rogue said as she grabbed her coat and stormed off. 

Remy just watched her go. What else could he do? He'd told her the truth, but she wouldn't believe it.

__

Why would she? Y' probably wouldn't either, Gambit.

But it was true. He'd gone to the club after he watched Rogue and Bobby descend into the apartment building. He'd known then what they were up to. He'd considered the pinch himself. He would've given the rocks to a charity, of course, just like they probably would. He'd left them there, let them have their fun, once he'd realized that was the extent of the challenge he'd sensed from her before she and Bobby had left the mansion for the night. He'd left them and he'd come to the club then. He never expected that Bobby would bring her there.

The woman was a distraction. She became his cover when he saw Bobby and Rogue at the club. He thought she'd never look twice at the couple, she didn't look twice at any of the other couples. 

__

Of course she'd recognize y', Gambit… Dumb luck or something else? …How much did Mystique train y', Rogue? More dan I t'ink any o' de X-Men t'ought to ask, hahn?

But the woman had started out as a distraction, a cheap replacement, just like the woman from the pinch the night before.

__

Admit it, Gambit. Y' went too far with dat one last night… Just a glutton for punishment, n'est-ce pas?

It was always a sort of torture when he flirted, conquered, touched another woman since he'd found himself serious about Rogue. It always served as a reminder of her, the one he couldn't touch, the one who wouldn't touch him. It was more than her powers and he knew it. He hoped she knew it, he was afraid that she never would. Or if she did, that she wouldn't admit it. 

…Little did he know.

__

Dere be ways around y' powers, chere, if y'd only take de chance. Dieu! De t'ings I be dreaming up… But it be more den dat… Way much more den sex… Dat be a cheap replacement… Got no problem going wit'out de sex. More den anyt'ing I just want to be close to y', chere. To hold y' close wit'out y' flinching. Merde! Dat's de worst. Remy hate it more den anyt'ing when y' flinch away like I be hurting y' when I just want to listen to y' problems, y' joys, and be allowed to help y' wit'out y' flinchin'… Y' share dat wit' Bobby… Why, chere? Y' don't love him like y' love me, like I love y'… Everyone knows dat. Even Bobby… Dat why he left it alone tonight… Is dat it, he be safe? He never pushes de romantic bit? Or y' be making up for Cody with him. He seem sorta de same type… Dieu, just give me de chance, Roguey… I just want to be dere for y'.*

Gambit ground out his cigarette in the ashtray beside Rogue's abandoned glass. He was about to go after her, determined to be there for her through whatever it was that's been going wrong for her. No matter what. A hand on his chest stopped him. He looked up to see Logan.

"This time, stay out of it, Gumbo. She may need ya, but she's so stubborn she'll fight ya just to spite that need. And that ain't doing your disposition any good."

Gambit nodded. "Remy know y' be right, Logan. 'S just hard. I want to help so much…"

"I know, Gumbo. But she won't take it, and she's hurting herself all the more for it every time she pushes you away. So, leave her be for now. She'll come to you eventually."

****

~~~~~~~~~~~

"Guess it's me and me and this little masochist. She's ready to confess all the things that I never thought that she could feel and—" (Hey Jupiter –by Tori Amos)

The Shimmering Cloud swirled in and out and around the pattern of the crystalline web of the Closet, the place that contained her absorption powers. She felt that waiting potential in the dormant mass contained behind the crystalline web. She felt it strengthen her. She wasn't affected by the collar like it was. This time was different from the other times the powers had been blocked: Genosha, Antartica, etc… She was dampened and weakened, yes, but she still was. She knew it was because she was so entirely separate now. She didn't even have the company of the rest of the Core anymore. She was nearly individual, and though she wouldn't be whole without Union, for the first time ever, she didn't mind the loneliness. 

You see—she had control. Even if she had only limited access, she had control. Learning that, honing it, was all she had to do during all those years of being trapped inside the Core with IT. She never _had_ to learn, never had to defend herself from IT—IT was never hostile towards her or any of the rest of the Core—but learning control passed the time.

The cloud floated back through the crystalline web cage and swirled around three of the chords that stretched from the Closet to the ghosts of those people Rogue had absorbed. She'd already done this with one of the chords, one of the three she now gave her attention to, actually. As she coated them, surrounded them, embodied them, she felt them quiver. And she shimmered in return.

**__**

Rogue doesn't even realize, the poor thing. She's too caught up talking ta the scary shadow man. He wants ta stop me, stop us, stop Union. But Ah'll show him. And Rogue, she will see. She will finally see.

****

~~~~~~~~~~~

"No one's picking up the phone. Guess it's me and me and this little masochist. She's ready to confess all the things that I never thought that she could feel and—" (Hey Jupiter –by Tori Amos)

"C'mon, Jeanie, pick up," Logan growled to the ringing cell. He'd already tried the comm unit and couldn't get a signal.

"Thanks for calling Xavier's…" Logan hung up on the answering machine. He'd just have to handle this himself. He wasn't sure how, exactly. From the looks of things, this was really Jeanie's department. 

__

Plus, the kid trusts her… Well, not as much as she trusts me, but more than she trusts Xavier and Emma.

Logan moved from his perch on the fire escape. Rogue was below him, in the alley, drunk as a skunk. She had a half-empty bottle of Jim Beam beside her and she was talking to herself… out loud. Well, not to herself, exactly.

"I can make it all go away, child. I can stop her. She's trying to take over. She's trying to make you go through it all over again," the Shadow King said. He was talking with Rogue's lips.

"Just trying ta get meh ta remembah, is all," Rogue said, thoroughly sloshed without the healing factor to taper the alcohol's effects. "Ah need ta. So Ah can stop hurting… so Ah can be with Remy."

"She doesn't want that. Remember what she told you earlier? She doesn't want you to have Remy. Ever. She wants to make you hurt like she's hurting… Think about it. She'd been trapped inside that pain, that fear, all that time. She wants revenge… Look… See what she's doing now."

Rogue peered inside her mindscape like the Shadow King said to. She didn't want to believe him, but she could feel that something was happening. When she looked, she found that the Shadow King was telling her the truth. The cloud was manipulating two of the ghost's chords that Rogue could see. The two chords were coming alive despite the collar.

__

She can do it because of the collar… She realized with a start. 

That was the alteration with the collar. She'd sensed it, sensed the wanting to wear it, the greater access the cloud had gained with it. She just hadn't been able to narrow it down before. 

She knew it gave her access. Her and her alone when it was on… She'd accepted it. That makes her his willing pawn… Means she's willingly working with Sinister! …_Doesn't it?_

"See, child… You can't stop her. You don't have access. Just remove the collar…" The Shadow King persuaded.

"Then ya'll be free."

"But I can stop her."

"Ah… Ah don't know."

"Precisely my point, child. You'll hesitate against her, against yourself. I won't."

"…Okay…"

Rogue released the collar and Wolverine pounced on her. They slammed into the ground, rolling over each other, and ended up with Rogue on top, the garrote biting around Logan's neck.

"What're ya doing, Rogue?!"

The Shadow King stared menacingly at Wolverine through Rogue's eyes. "Whatever I want, Wolverine." 

Inside Rogue's mind, the shimmering cloud fought not to attack the Shadow King herself, fought to keep her hold on the chords. She saw Rogue bound like a mummy, being pulled away from the Core, saw the Core being wrapped all the more tightly, but she had to stick to he plan. They had to act.

****

"_Now, Psylocke!_" The Shimmering voice commanded.

Outside the mindscape, Rogue convulsed above Wolverine. A quick slice of his claws was all that saved him from being nearly decapitated by the razor sharp garrote. Sure, his adamantium-laced spine would've stopped it, but that's all that would've been left and he would've been a long time hurting while he healed it. And Rogue needed him right then.

Before he could do anything else, though, Rogue slumped forward against him, just missing contacting the bare skin of his face with the bare skin of hers. She was utterly still.

"Shit!" Wolverine cursed. He rolled her off him, laid her on her back and took off his gloves. Just as he neared her face, her eyes snapped open.

"Don't, Wolvie," Rogue said.

"Rogue, is that you?"

"It's all me now, sugah." Silently, she added, _More of me, maybe, but it's me. _The cloud's presence had strengthened. "Shadow King ain't a threat no more. Ever again, it seems like."

Inside Rogue's mindscape, Psylocke's ghost paced angrily around her newly formed, doubly strong cage that encased the Shadow King. She raised her Katana and with the last of her strength, struck it upon the chord that linked him to Rogue, severing it. Psylocke faded into the cage itself, become the cage forever more. Jean's ghost then opened a hole to the astral plane and shoved the Shadow King, Psylocke cage and all, into it. 

A moment later, the whole closed. Only a tiny thin line of web led from where the hole had been straight to the core itself. The IT inside would always maintain watch over the Psylocke cage and the Shadow King. IT would always reinforce the prison. IT was still trapped by Rogue, by ITSELF in a way, but like the cloud, IT wasn't so completely affected by the collar as the Closet was. That was the added purpose of the collar, which Rogue woefully didn't quite realize yet. It would advance Union. It was for her own good, even if it played into Sinister's plans. And now, now IT had its own link outside the mindscape.

Outside the mindscape, Wolverine picked up the collar and handed it to her. "How ya doin'?"

"All right, Ah guess," Rogue said as she accepted the collar. The Shadow King was contained, so she didn't need it anymore, right?

Inside the mindscape…

**__**

"You're turn, Jean," the shimmering voice commanded as she focused on the second newly imbued chord.

__

"No," Jean's ghost said,_ "It isn't right."_

****

"Fine, Ah'll do it mahself, then." 

The cloud poured herself into Jean's chord. The chord glowed like wild fire. It shimmered and took on some of the cloud's corporeal nature. The cloud held on, letting the power build and build, storing it, gaining control, just in time…

Outside the mindscape, Logan placed a hand on Rogue's shoulder as he, still crouched beside her, helped her sit up. 

"Then what's with the tears, darlin'?" Logan asked.

Rogue touched her face and wiped her damp cheeks. More tears wet it, though. She looked down at the collar in her lap then reluctantly put it around her neck. Logan was surprised, but he didn't try to stop her.

"This holds her back a little… not as much as it holds me, though…" she said as she locked the collar shut and it turned on. "But Ah can't stop her at all, Wolvie… Ah can't…" she said and threw her arms around him and cried into his shoulder.

He held her and patted her back, comforting her. "Then we'll just have to help ya."

"Will ya, Wolvie? Ya promise?" Rogue asked between sobs. 

"Yeah, I promise."

She felt the catch then, felt the cloud activate it with Jean's power, felt Jean's power flow through it to Wolvie. She saw Wolvie's eyes light up with understanding. She felt the catch pull on him, felt the stirring low in her stomach, fueled by the cloud.

**__**

"Take this, Sugah," the shimmering voice whispered to Rogue, pleading with her. She wasn't trying to hurt; she was trying to help**. "_Use it… Feel something different… Make it not hurt so much… Please." _**[4]

Rogue kissed Logan and he kissed her back. He felt the catch; he'd never felt it before. But somehow, he knew it wasn't new, it'd been there for a while. He felt it manipulating him. It fed his own desires—normally so small they weren't even a flicker—but now they roared through him, over him, consumed him, and he couldn't stop it. And somewhere, he realized, he wouldn't try to stop it, not if she initiated it, not if it was only what it was, a satiating, nothing more. Heightened animal senses had their drawbacks as much as their gain.

Rogue, stubborn scrapper that she was, drew on those last feelings of his and answered them. She pulled back just enough to talk to him. She looked him dead in the eyes, cupped his grizzly face in her palms, and she willed a truthful answer from him over the out she was about to give him. She hoped it would work. She could feel the catch, but she couldn't access it to control it. And she'd never had control of it in that way, anyway. And part of her didn't want to stop it. She had to make him understand. It wasn't like it would be with Gambit, or even with Bobby. Logan was safest of all. He really didn't want her that way. But would he take her?

"Ah just want to feel something different… something that feels good… Ah can't stand this pain anymore… It hurts, Logan. It hurts too touch. And not because of my powers. It just hurts. Touch is pain. Get it. Always has been. Always. Ah can't be near Remy because of it… Ah need to make it stop hurting… Ah need something different, something safe, without attachments to… She would've picked Bobby… Ah almost let her… It can't be him. It can't. But it has to be someone who doesn't hurt…"

"Shhh… I get it, Rogue," he sighed, closing his eyes to her raw expression, to the tears that were soaking both of them. His hands twitched against her as he fought against the want being fed by the catch.

"Ya sure ya want this, Rogue," he asked, his voice growling with fighting the catch, the want. "You. Want. This." He separated each word, emphasizing his meaning.

"Ah need it, " she said and blinked more tears down her cheeks. It was barely a whisper.

He nodded and stopped fighting then. He picked her up and slammed her against the wall. Snikt! He popped one claw and sliced open her deceptively solid clothing. An instant later, his hand, with claw retracted, slid inside the cloth and groped her as he fed at her mouth. 

Rogue turned away slightly and asked, "Not here, though, please?"

He did as she asked. He took her to a more appropriate place, off the streets and away from the X-Men. It was very hard for them to wait.

"Thought I knew myself so well. All the dolls I had. Took my leather off the shelf. Your apocalypse was fab for a girl who couldn't choose between the shower or the bath… Guess it's clear he's gone. And this little masochist is lifting up her dress. Guess I thought I could never feel the things I feel…" (Hey Jupiter –by Tori Amos)

Inside Rogue's mindscape, the cloud continued manipulating the chord that was feeding Logan's catch, flaming the fire. She also nuzzled the third chord she'd had some control over, the one she'd had for the longest, since the first time the collar was put on following the first episode, actually. She'd had access to the catch that echoed that chord… sometimes. Rogue was oblivious to this control. 

The one who was attached to this catch though? Well, he was getting suspicious. The cloud wasn't sure how she felt about that. She would just wait and see. 

For now, she would feed Logan and Rogue. And, using Jean's powers, she would bounce a little echo of what was happening between Rogue and Logan down that third chord, along the catch. It would make a nice little test for him.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

FOOTNOTES:

[1] This is a common concept amongst fan fiction (I don't remember it specifically mentioned in any of the comics), especially among Lori McDonald and Valerie Jones' thieves' stories.

[2] As in Dante's Inferno, the accompanying literary work to Paradisio and Pergatorio (I think that's what they were called).

[3] I'm alluding to Remy training Bobby as a thief as was told in Lori McDonald's and Valerie Jones' thieves' stories. I'm just saying that it happened in the past, perhaps when Gambit was leading half the X-Men.

[4] I got the primary basis for her needing to feel something different and wanting it through sex from the movie, High Fidelity. If you haven't seen it yet, do so. But there is more to it. It will be dealt with later. This will have repercussions in her life and her relationships.

****

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~


	7. Chapter 07 Settling

****

A/N: Warning! Sexual situations contained in this chapter.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Seether

Chapter Seven - Settling

By Randirogue

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

"Met 'em in a Hotel beneath ground. Tell me that he's missing. Tell me this is one for Lollipop Gestapo. You were wild. Where are you now? Give me more. I have to learn to let you crash down—I have to learn to let you crash. Met 'em in a Hotel. You say he's the biggest thing there'll be this year. I guess that what I'm seeking isn't here. Met 'em in a Hotel. Met 'em in a guess world. Guessed anyone but you were wild. Where are you now? You were wild. Where are you now? Give me more. I have to learn to let you crash down. Where are the velvets when you're coming down? Hotel. You were wild. Where are you now? King Solomon's Mine's—Exit 75—I'm still alive—I'm still alive." (Hotel –by Tori Amos)

When Gambit got back to the mansion he found a nervous Bobby and Hank waiting impatiently in the rec room. They had jumped out of their seats when they heard the front door close, but they both sighed in disappointment when they saw Gambit, by himself, pass the rec room entranceway.

"Oh, it's just you," Bobby said as he settled back onto the couch.

"Glad to see y', too, Bobby," Gambit said wryly.

"Rogue isn't with you?" Hank asked. He turned a stern look on his best friend, Bobby, then looked back imploringly to Gambit, "Bobby assured me she was with you."

"Was, but den she left. Logan followed her, t'ough." Gambit said, becoming worried by their anxiousness. He joined them in the rec. room, sitting on the back of the couch to hover over Bobby, who moved over in response. Gambit beamed with his manipulation of Bobby and said, "Why? What's up?"

"Several things, actually," Hank said, "Jean, Warren and Scott left for the recon mission to Genosha to check on Magneto's situation and we received a disturbing message from Jean while she was en route to—"

"Get to de part dat concerns Rogue, mon ami," Gambit said cutting him off. His concern for Rogue was etching at his nerves, making him curt, despite his earlier decision to curtail his more extreme reactions ever since he'd noticed the deviations in his behavior.

"Jean felt Rogue remove her collar about…" Bobby checked his watch before continuing, "About forty-five minutes ago."

Gambit jumped up then, "De Shadow King—" 

Gambit stopped short. A series of quick cutting images suddenly seared his vision in the space of a few seconds. 

****

FLASH! Rogue. Logan. Alley wall. Snikt. Tear. Kiss. Grope. FLASH!

__

What de hell?! Gambit hid it from his outer appearance as best he could, considering the suddenness and extremity of it.

"The others are out searching for her," Hank said, misinterpreting the reason for Gambit's wide-eyed expression. It brought Gambit's attention back to Hank, though part of him lingered on the surprising images he'd seen. Hank continued, "I stayed behind in case she returned and Bobby just got back a few minutes before you."

"Searching for her?" Gambit said, trying to clear his head of the vision, "Why not just use Cerebro?"

"Xavier is, but… her signature won't register…" Bobby supplied.

"What y' mean? Dat she could be…"

"No, Gambit," Hank said, "I hypothesize that her signature has changed since her first …episode, is in fact still changing."

"How can it change, it follows her genetic structure, oui?"

"Exactly, Gambit," Hank said, bounding over to Gambit, "And all three scans I performed over the last few days have showed slight variations. I loaded each change as I noticed it, but Cerebro is registering static in her general vicinity. It blips out then shows static somewhere else a moment later. Last thing the professor reported, it showed two locations at once." Hank sighed and settled onto the couch himself. "I'm afraid that until she balances, Cerebro, will not be a viable tracking system for our Mississippi Marauder."

"What about her comm unit?" Gambit asked.

Hank held up said device to him, "She left it in her room."

Gambit spun on Bobby, who cringed from the venom in Gambit's fiery eyes, answering Gambit's implied accusation, "I didn't know, Gambit. I would've made her take it. You know I would."

Gambit settled onto the back of the couch again, "Dieu! Gambit knows, Bobby. 'S just frustrating. She be de most stubborn femme…Guess it be a good t'ing Wolverine was following her. Not'ing gets past his nose, n'est-ce pas?"

Another vision hit Gambit through the catch. Stronger, this time, longer. Sounds added.

****

FLASH! Bedroom. Sheets. Moans. Two writhing bodies. White stripe. Collar. Sweat. Moans. FLASH!

"Merde!" Gambit nearly stumbled off the couch with the intensity of that one.

"Gambit!" Bobby exclaimed, catching Gambit from toppling on top of him. "What is with you?"

Gambit's eyes were wide, disbelieving, denying what he was seeing. "Getting flashes… Just saw…" Gambit shook his head, trying to erase the images from his mind without any luck. 

"Is it Rogue?" Bobby asked.

"Is she trying to speak to you telepathically?" Hank asked.

"It can't be… Saw de collar on her and y' said she took de collar off…" Gambit rubbed his eyes in another feeble attempt to rid himself of the images.

Another vision and Gambit did fall to the floor. He was grinding his fists in his eyes. It was even stronger this time. Sounds were more vivid, details more apparent. It was still clips, but each clip played longer, like video. 

****

FLASH! "_GRROWWLLL!" _Logan barrel-rolled Rogue, like a shark subduing his prey, over and off the bed. FLASH!

Gambit crashed to all fours, but still the vision continued.

****

FLASH! They were tangled in the sheets. SNIKT! Claws sliced the sheets. Naked bodies. Rogue threw her head back, eyes shut, brow sweating, hair slicked with sweat. Logan fell forward on her. Her mouth opened, "Ohhhh! Gaaawwwd!" She bit her lip. FLASH!

Gambit whipped back as if struck, sat on his heels, back arched, fists at his eyes. Then he gained physical sensations with the continuing images. Felt their pleasure like stabs in his gut, in his chest.

****

FLASH! Rogue's nails scored Logan's back._ "GRRRWWWLLL!"_ "_OHHHHHH!"_ He reared back, arms opened wide, SNIKT, claws extended. She held on, lifted with him. He wrapped his arms around her, claws retracting. BUILDING. He lifted her. REACHING. Slammed her half on the bed, half against the bed. ALMOST THERE. Rogue gripped the edges of the mattress. CLIMAXING. Logan tore the mattress above her. FLOATING. Both grips released. Rogue slackened, crying, smiling. Logan collapsed against her, panting, spent. FLASH!

Gambit collapsed forward, head to his knees, arms pressed to the floor, gasping, no, gagging for breath. To Gambit it had taken forever to see it, go through it. To Bobby and Hank it lasted less than a minute.

"What did you see? Can you tell where she is?" Bobby asked, berating Gambit from over the top of the couch.

Hank moved around the couch. "Calm down, Bobby," Hank said as he rested his hand on Bobby's shoulder to move him out of the way to inspect Gambit's welfare. "Are you all right, Gambit? Are you in pain?"

"Non… Non, il n'est douloureux pas …" _l'Anglais, Remy, English._ He was still trying to catch his breath. "Not like dat, not pain… Mais, oui, what Gambit saw." 

Gambit clutched his chest with his shaking hands. His eyes were wide, brimming with tears, but he wouldn't let them fall. He was trying to form his own thoughts, speak plainly, but couldn't. Everything was all spewing out at once, jumbled, wracking through him, choking him, "Rogue, chere--Logan… Dieu! De collar on… dey… Dey were toget'er… C'est impossible!" 

He coughed and bowed his head, his shaking hands wrung in his lap. "Mais, it can't be. De collar was on. How Gambit see? She not have her powers, no telepathy, ils comprendent?" Gambit looked up to them, then, pleading for them to understand. 

They didn't know what to make of what he was saying. Bobby was perturbed, but he was confused more than anything.

The words tumbled out of Gambit again, "Non, Vous ne comprendez pas—Je ne comprends pas! C'est makes no sense, jamais. Mais, et Ils etiaient seul—alone, saw dem alone—Dey were…" Gambit shook his head, coughing again. "Dieu! Can't even say it…"

Realization flooded Bobby's face. He stood and stared defiantly at Gambit. "You're lying, Gambit. She wouldn't. He wouldn't."

"Non, mais, non," Gambit said without looking up, all his words were coming out in a rush still, choking still, "Wish it be a lie, but Gambit saw it, Bobby—Dieu!—I felt it."

A glass appeared before Gambit, held by a blue furry paw. Gambit never even noticed Hank had left the room.

"Calm down, Gambit," Hank said as Gambit took the glass and drank from it. 

After a few sips, Hank helped Gambit to the couch. Gambit just fell into it; let it hold all of him. He was still shaking and the water spilled a bit. Hank helped him steady it, helped him drink it. 

"Slowly, Gambit. That's it," Hank turned to Bobby, who stood still by the couch, aghast. He hadn't moved since he'd accused Gambit of lying. "Get a blanket, would you, Bobby… Bobby?"

"Huh? Oh, a blanket, okay…" Bobby went to fetch a blanket and Hank turned his attention back to Gambit, who seemed to be doing a little better.

Gambit finished the water and handed the glass back to Hank, who set it on the coffee table out of the way.

Bobby returned and Hank spread the blanket over Gambit. Remy didn't protest once, he merely let the couch cradle him, tried to keep his breath steady, and tried to keep his hands from shaking.

Bobby sat in a nearby chair, watching Gambit. He was concerned. He was bothered by what Gambit had implied had happened between Logan and Rogue, but at the moment Gambit's reaction startled him even more. Gambit seemed to be in shock. 

__

Is it from what he saw? Is it from how he saw it? Was the method itself violent? The way Gambit's body jerked around sure made it seem that way. But is it from the trauma of the betrayal or the trauma of the seeing? And what does it say about Rogue's own condition? Did she send the images? Bobby doubted it. _Rogue isn't that sadistic. But who then? And why? And were the visions even real?_

Out loud, Bobby asked, "Are you okay, Remy?"

"Oui, t'ink so," Remy said and held up his hands to Hank and Bobby. They twitched a few times, but other than that, they'd stopped shaking. Gambit released a long sigh. "Be t'ankful y' didn't see it, Bobby. Watching y' and Rogue, dat was bad… but dis, dis was worse, one of de worst t'ings Gambit ever been t'rough. Better to face a whole mess of sentinels any day, n'est-ce pas?"

Bobby nodded. He got the idea. Just hearing it was bad enough for him. _But it was almost you, Bobby. You turned her down._ Okay, that thought made him feel guilty. _Focus on Gambit, not yourself, focus on Gambit, focus on Gambit…_ He was trying to make it a mantra.

"Do y' t'ink it be true?" Gambit asked sheepishly. "Any of it? Logan and Rogue? Dat Rogue sent me de images?"

"Oh, dear," Hank said, "I'm not sure, Gambit. Can't you tell?"

"It felt real. Felt Rogue de most, more directly, but Logan wasn't far behind," Gambit let his head fall back on the top of the couch and closed his eyes. "But dat don't really settle it, t'ough. Don't know how we find out de truth."

"We could just ask them, Remy," Bobby said. It was almost sarcastic.

"Oui," Gambit said without looking at Bobby, "But, don't know if I want to know, comprendez-vous?"

****

~~~~~~~~~~~

"Is there room in my heart for you to follow your heart and not need more blood from the tip of your star…" (Datura –by Tori Amos)

An hour later, the front door opened. Storm and the others entered and most, those that didn't have to debrief right away, went straight to their rooms. It was late, around three in the morning. All of them, though, some more than others, were fatigued, sleepy, annoyed, concerned and confused. Storm, Bishop, Emma and Sage joined the waiting Beast, Gambit and Bobby in the rec room.

After conferring with the Professor, Beast had contacted Storm and confided in her the new delicacy that surrounded the search for Rogue. Storm then decided that a discrete communication with Logan would be their next step. Locating him through Cerebro and then having the group busting in the room, heck, even knocking politely on the door first, was not a pleasant thought. Telepathic contact also held some tasteless and uncomfortable realities to it. If indeed what Gambit was force-fed was true, they didn't want to interrupt. 

Like Beast, they had tried to contact Logan by way of his comm unit first, but found it to be turned off or lost since there was no signal. In the end, they had to allow Emma to do a telepathic probe. Storm, who was linked to the connection via Emma, was thankful that they had, indeed, made contact with Logan post-coitus, not during. Emma was adamant that they were in between and not merely after the fact. She also insisted that both Logan and Rogue had been and were being influenced by a sort of third party. 

"Can you determine their attacker?" Storm had asked Emma.

"Yes, and no," Emma said. "Attacker isn't quite the word for it. They are both aware of their actions, they have both consented despite their added… drive." Emma barely got it out without laughing. 

"This is not a time for such humor, Emma," Storm said. 

"Why not?" Emma asked. "You heard them, they are quite happy at the moment."

Several of the X-Men in Storm's search party couldn't help but snicker themselves. It was difficult to keep the situation unknown to them despite Storm's intended discretion.

"But they are not in danger?" Bishop asked. More laughter erupted and he grunted.

"Not exactly, no," Emma said, stifling down her own laughter as she was reminded of the duo's aches and scratches. After regaining her composure, she said, "Look, I can detect the influence, but it is… how to explain… it's like it's in a feedback loop. I can't pinpoint who or what or where with 100% accuracy. I believe it is Rogue herself, or rather an entity of Rogue that Jean and I encountered in her mindscape earlier. When I try to contact this entity, it responds with a telepathic wash that emulates the three words that accompany it—Endure, Heal, and Hope. I believe it is sincere."

"What about the Shadow King?" Sage asked. "Was he not released when Rogue took off her collar."

"Rogue insisted he is gone," Storm said.

Emma searched the astral plane, then addressed the assembled team, "He is contained on the astral plane. Quite impressively, I might add." She turned to Storm and with heady sarcasm, said, "So, since we have completed the search portion, being we have found Rogue. And since neither Rogue nor Logan are being harmed against their will—"

More laughter ensued.

"—a rescue is not in order. I think our job is done for the evening."

Needless to say, they returned to the mansion at that point. Storm had only relayed the most basic information back to Hank and the Professor before returning, despite that everyone in Storm's search party were completely aware of what had happened. Storm insisted that discretion was in order. She did not want to see her friend, Remy, hurt and embarrassed in front of all the other X-Men. Unfortunately, Remy's empathic abilities found it difficult to screen out strong emotions, so the wave of sympathy, humor, embarrassment and shock that emanated from the group as they passed by the rec room crashed over him. Gambit wanted to crawl into a hole and bury himself inside it.

__

Dieu! They all know… Not only dat, but it be true… it be true.

Storm, Bishop, Emma and Sage entered the rec room. 

"I am sorry, my friend," Storm said, taking note of how Bobby deflated with her words. "Would you like to talk?"

"Non. Just want to be alone."

"You know my door is open should you decide otherwise," Storm said, then turned to the others assembled there. "We must debrief with Xavier. Then, I think we should all follow our compatriots example and go to bed ourselves."

Storm, Sage, Bishop and Hank departed. Emma remained behind. She gave Gambit a conniving grin, then said, "You have one consolation, Gambit. She did it for you." She didn't bother stifling her laughter as she left. 

"That Bitch!" Bobby exclaimed.

Gambit's response was to cradle his head against his forearms. His knees were drawn up and his arms were crossed on top of them.

"God, Gambit, I'm sorry," Bobby said.

Gambit's voice was a low growl, a mixture of anger and pain. "Just _go_ away, Bobby," Gambit said without lifting his head. 

"Hey, I'm just as concerned as you, Gambit," Bobby said defensively.

Gambit looked at Bobby then. His eyes flared and his expression matched the harried anger and pain his voice held a moment before. Now, when he spoke, though, sarcasm was added to the mixture, "Concerned?! Don't y' mean regret? Dieu! I just bet y' be kicking y'self for telling her no right about now, non?"

Bobby was more shocked than defensive. He wanted to be offended, but couldn't. He knew it was true. He opened his mouth to speak, then closed it. There was so much he wanted to say, but all of it seemed so inappropriate, so hurtful both to him and Gambit, that he didn't see the point. So, he did the only thing he could do. He sat down and waited with Gambit for Rogue's return. He didn't want to confront her anymore than he suspected Gambit wanted to. Didn't even really want to see her, but that didn't change that he had to. Had to. Could Gambit do any less?

Remy rested his head against the back of the couch. The fabric was soft against the side of his face, but he didn't notice, all his awareness was devoted to his thoughts.

What are y' doing, Remy? Y' can't rightly go accusing her of infidelity after what y' did last night. Don't matter if she know or not. Not unless y' want one more t'ing to be feeling guilty over. Non, don't want dat. Got more dan enough of dat. Den what y' doing waiting up right where she going to pass? Well, 'less she fly up to her room. Why not? She can use telepathy or whatever she did to send me dose images, dose feelings, while she be wearing de collar, so why can't she fly wit' it on? 'Cause y' know deep down dat dis is just one more episode. Not exactly like de ot'er two… But Rogue was aware of what she be doing—she consented—more den consented…

Gambit collapsed back on the couch. It was all so overwhelming, so draining. 

Dieu! What y' going to do, Remy? Y' just going to forgive her? Like y' want her to forgive y'? Do y' love her dat much? Or y' going to let y' jealousy control y'? Fight wit' her about it? Remy want to be bigger den dat. Want tp do de noble t'ing… 

He rolled onto his side.

Merde! Remy really want to' pound dat chevrette, Logan. 

He punched the couch cushion he was laying on. His anger turned to hurt again, flip-flop, flip-flop, like he had no control over it.

Never saw it coming. Never suspected he had de least bit of interest in Rogue like dat… Anf Rogue? Why she turn to Logan, to Bobby, but not y', Remy? She say she loves y', Remy, but she keep pushing y' away.

****

~~~~~~~~~~~

"It's easier not to be wise and measure these things by your brains. I sank into Eden with you. Alone in the church, by and by. I'll read to you here. Save your eyes. You'll need them. Your boat is at sea. Your anchor is up. You've been swept away. And the greatest of teachers won't hesitate to leave you there, by yourself, chained to fate. I alone love you. I alone tempt you. I alone love you. Fear is not the end of this." (I Alone –by Live)

Rogue returned to the mansion a few hours later. Logan wasn't with her. They thought that it would be awkward if any of the others saw them return together. Didn't matter that most of them already knew what happened between them after Emma's interruption. Besides, they weren't really together. They were just friends. Closer now, but friends, nonetheless.

She parked Gambit's Harley in the garage, but came in the front door. She had the sneaky suspicion that Gambit had waited up for her, that he knew, knew before Emma had contacted Logan even, and she just had to see for herself. She didn't want to get into a knock down, drag out fight with him over this; she was feeling way to good—hopeful—and didn't want that to ruin her mood. But, she also didn't want to let this lie. She had to let him know that she'd done it so she could be with him. She had to show him that she wasn't so afraid anymore.

She found him asleep in the rec. room. She just stared at him a long time. Even in his sleep he looked haggard, hurt, betrayed. The sight of him both filled her heart to the brim and deflated it all at once. She hadn't wanted to hurt him. She hated to see him hurt. But she was so happy, so hopeful, that the _idea_ of him no longer made her skin crawl. 

"…And the greatest of teachers won't hesitate to leave you there, by yourself, chained to fate. I alone love you. I alone tempt you. I alone love you. Fear is not the end of this…" (I Alone –by Live)

Oh, she knew that one night of sex with Logan didn't cure her fears. She never expected it to. And she doubted that _she_, the shimmering voice, the escaped bit of cloud, did either. Not completely. But it did heal a little piece inside her. Made her hurt a little less, which made her fear a lot less, not completely, but enough to be a start. She'd wanted it, sensed that it could help, but still it was confusing for her. 

When Rogue had been intimate with Gambit in Antartica before the trial, she had loved it. When it occurred, it was the most precious thing to her, and she'd believed in that moment, for him, too. And yes, it did make her more comfortable with Remy for sharing such a loving experience together, for patching over the hurt deep inside her with Remy's love, Remy's genuinely caring caresses. But at the same time, it had all seemed so unreal, so staged, so manipulated. It wasn't just that Magneto, disguised as Eric the Red, had set it all up—something else she'd have to settle up at another time—but that Gambit had taken advantage of the situation as well. That she'd forced herself through it.

Even while she was elated with making love to Gambit, a part of her had felt used by him. She'd been so vulnerable then. The ghosts, the memories were overwhelming her. And as quick as he had been to rush to her aid, he stripped her of everything in his pursuit and his deference. 

"Trust me," he had said, "and I promise dat de moment I can make t'ings right again…I'll move heaven and earth t' do it." 

With his next breath, he had changed the subject, distracted her, took advantage. And she'd let him—wanting to be covered over from the memories, from the pain. The conflicting wants and needs and terrors were too equal. There was bad with the good.

"One more t'ing, chere. With your powers negated… It means this may be our one night. Our first. Our last." [1]

__

It wasn't the best time for it, now that Ah think 'bout it. But, truthfully, it was just as much my fault as it was his. Ah never did say no, now did Ah? And during, he'd been so tentative, so tender, prepared for my expected virginity—in more ways than one, and less in others. And he never brought up that Ah wasn't in the way he had most expected. And right after… Ah was so glad… It had been better than Ah had ever imagined. It wasn't just sex—like with Logan. Remy and I, we loved each other... And then right afterwards, he'd been so sullen… Like he'd regretted it.

And then the trial. _The mind rape. _ And then she'd left him there. 

With those things, their moment of tenderness, their expression of love, it had been made vile. It wasn't just a combination of bad with the good with the terror with the pleasure. It became a punishment. It joined the ranks of the core, though it didn't leave her memory like the things she no longer remembered, the things _protected_ in the Core. She'd clung to the happiness of the moment of it with all her might, even tainted as it was. She wasn't going to lose it completely to the Core. It wasn't like the other times, where all she wanted to do was forget. And in doing so, the fear rose in her again. It undid what was healed in their lovemaking. Again, touch was pain, and the pain was fresh; it was raw; it was attached to Remy.

"There was a boy. A very strange enchanted boy. They say he wandered very far, very far, over land and sea. A middle child, and saddled by, but there he was, was he. And then one day, one magic day he passed my way. While we spoke of many things, fools and kings, this he said to me, 'the greatest thing you'll ever learn is just to love and be loved in return.'" (Nature Boy --by David Bowie -- Moulin Rouge Soundtrack)

Rogue knelt beside the rec room couch and watched Gambit's sleeping form. She smiled. She loved him. 

"It ain't _all_ pain anymore, Remy," she whispered to him as she brushed a lock of hair off his face. "It's still hard. Ah admit it. But, it's manageable now. You'll see. We'll work it out." 

She kissed him then. It was light and soft, a mere brush of lips. Her lips feathered his lips as she breathed into his mouth, "…Together." 

She kissed him once more, stood and pulled the blanket up over him. As she turned to leave, she found Bobby was also sleeping on one of the couches in the rec room. She smiled a different, but no less appreciative smile. In a way, he was hers too. Not like Gambit was hers, but hers regardless. And she was grateful for it. She could never truly express how much. Not since Cody had she ever had a friend quite so wonderful as Bobby.

She fetched another blanket and covered Bobby.

"Thank you," she whispered to Bobby. She almost kissed his brow, but stopped herself. It was too soon for that.

__

Ah don't want to be cruel. Ah'm his as much as he's mine. Ah can't be any less, but Ah can't be any more, either.

On her way out of the rec room, Rogue paused by Remy again. She fingered the rose in her pocket, and smiled. She went to him. She curled his hand around the rose's stem, her gift, her message to him, and then went to her own bedroom.

****

~~~~~~~~~~~

"Your flirt finds me out, teases the crack in me, smittens me with hope. Possibly maybe, possibly love. As much as I definitely enjoy solitude, I wouldn't mind perhaps spending little time with you sometimes, sometimes. Possibly maybe, possibly love. Uncertainty excites me. Who knows what's going to happen? Lottery or car crash, or you'll join a cult. Possibly maybe, possibly love…" (Possibly Maybe –by Bjork)

Despite her inordinately late night, Rogue was up bright and early, and in the most splendid mood. Seeing she was the first in the kitchen, she decided to prepare a breakfast feast for everyone. Milk, eggs, sausage, bacon, biscuits, fresh fruit to squeeze for juice, breads, sugar and flour and butter were all strewn across the counters. Coffee was brewing. What was prepared was warmed in makeshift heaters on the table waiting to be brought into the dining room. Rogue was practically flitting from counter to refrigerator to oven to table to stove to sink, moving to a chipper music all her own.

So consumed in her preparations, Rogue did not notice Wolverine enter the mansion's front door. She did not notice him leaning against the doorjamb watching her in differential amusement and admiration. Until, he laughed, that is.

Rogue spun to the source of the laughter. Upon seeing her enchanted expression and her not-so-Martha-Stewart appearance, Logan laughed harder. 

In the rec room, Bobby stirred from the sound of laughter coming from the nearby kitchen. He recognized Wolverine's laughter and sat up. He looked around the room and saw Gambit, wide-awake, on the couch he'd occupied since the previous night. 

Gambit was sitting up, feet planted firmly on the floor before him. His elbows rested on his knees and he was hunched over in contemplation. His gaze studied the rose that had been in his hand when he awoke.

"Well," Bobby had made it a question. Remy didn't answer. He just stared at that rose, twisted the stem side to side between his nimble fingers.

__

What's dis supposed to mean, Rogue? Is dis a break up t'ing or a make up t'ing? What game y' playing? What do y' expect from me, Rogue?

Gambit cringed as another peal of laughter erupted from the kitchen. He was feeling the motion and the heat designations in the kitchen with his kinesthetic sense. It was a stretch, reaching that directed, that far away, and through walls, but he did it anyway. He had to feel her, get any sense of her that he could. He wished his empathy worked similarly to his kinesthetic sense, could have that reach. If he could just have some clue where she stood with him.

__

Why y' be doing dis?

"Well, I'm going if you're not," Bobby said with annoyance as he whipped the covers off of himself and abruptly left the rec. room.

In the kitchen, Wolverine continued laughing as he gestured to Rogue's attire and she looked herself over. Her hair was tied in a messy ponytail, bangs and wisps hanging all over. She had on a pair of short-shorts and a spaghetti strap tank top. She was barefoot and she wore the collar. She had egg smudged on her nose and cheek. Flour dusted her chest and smeared her forehead.

In retaliation to his laughter at her appearance, she grabbed an egg off the counter and tossed it at him. To her surprise, he caught it and threw it back before she had time to prepare to catch it. 

"Ahhh!" She gasped as she laughed. The egg smacked her hand, ricocheting off it and cracked against the collar. The sticky fluid dibbled down her neck and into her shirt. Shell bits stuck to her skin and fell to the floor. "Ewww!" She laughed as she wiped it off with her hand and screwed her face in disgust. 

Logan's laughter continued, though it mingled with a quiet growl deep in his chest. The sight of her smearing the slimy fluid across her chest with her fingertips reminded him of the previous night in a primitive way. He enjoyed the show even if he, nor she, had any intentions of repeating it.

"Didn't you get enough last night?" Bobby asked as he strode past Wolverine and headed to the coffee maker. He didn't make eye contact with either Rogue or Wolverine, but despite his jab at Wolverine, he, Iceman, couldn't help but take in an eyeful of Rogue's fingers wiping the sticky substance off her chest. 

"Did you?" Logan countered. 

Caught off guard from Logan's comment, which reminded Bobby of his own indiscretion with Rogue the night before, Bobby spilled some of the hot coffee on his hand. "Damn it!" Bobby cursed quietly as he iced the injured hand up.

Rogue grabbed a damp wash cloth from the sink and continued to wipe off the egg. Bobby and Logan eyed each other with annoyance as they took up seats on opposite sides of the kitchen table. 

Bobby sipped his coffee, then spoke to Rogue, "What's all this about?" His following gesture indicated the entire kitchen and her cooking breakfast. "You trying to make up for something or what?"

Playfully, Rogue smacked the top of Bobby's head with the wash rag. "Nope," she said, twirling the rag in the air behind Bobby's head. "Haven't done nothing wrong? Ah'm just feeling better than Ah have in a _long_ time."

Then she tossed the rag into the sink. 

"…And the greatest of teachers won't hesitate to leave you there, by yourself, chained to fate. I alone love you. I alone tempt you. I alone love you. Fear is not the end of this…" (I Alone –by Live)

Rogue leaned into Bobby, playfully shoving her cleavage within inches of his face, "All clean?"

Bobby coughed. Logan laughed. He smelled the Cajun coming down the hall towards them, but he ignored him for the moment. He was having way too much fun messing with Bobby. Gambit would just have to wait his turn.

"Well?" Rogue pushed.

"Uh… yeah! You're clean..." Bobby stammered as he tried avoiding eye contact with Rogue's cleavage. He returned to drinking his coffee. 

"Thank ya!" Rogue said. She stood and smiled. "Ah wouldn't want my _best friend_ thinking Ah was dirty."

Bobby, having just caught her double meaning, looked to her with surprise. Then his face softened with his relent.

Logan grinned broadly. _That's my girl. Don't let him push ya around, Rogue. _He sniffed the air and smelled the Cajun as he was about to enter. He reeked of a dozen different extremely strong emotions, but Logan couldn't figure out Gambit's intentions because the emotional scents were too jumbled. He smelled something else too, so he said to Rogue,"Yer biscuits are burnin', darlin'."

Her emerald eyes widened in surprise and she rushed to the oven and whipped it open. 

"Fiddlesticks!" she exclaimed and reached in. Logan sat back and watched.

"Non!" 

Gambit raced to Rogue, but didn't make it in time. She grabbed the hot pan with her bare hands—just as she always did. She'd forgotten she'd had the collar on again. Rogue hissed and she dropped the pan of crispy-crittered biscuits clanging to the floor. 

Gambit grabbed Rogue's bare wrist with his bare hand—_She didn't flinch!_--and guided her to the sink. He turned the cold water on and held her burned palm under it. Bobby was at Rogue's other side a moment later. He caught a handful of water, froze it and held it to Rogue's hand. This time Rogue did flinch. But it wasn't from their physical contact. It was from the pain of having the ice placed on the burn that was just showing signs of minor blistering. 

Bobby and Gambit watched Rogue as they nursed her burn with their over-attention. Rogue was biting her lip, a sure sign she was fighting back tears. It was the first time she'd felt physical pain inflicted on her since she'd put on the collar. Hell, it was the first time she'd felt physical pain from something so mundane in years, not since the Savage Land, and before that, Genosha. It hadn't been a concern of hers on an everyday basis since before Carol Danvers. Still, she would not cry over this. She would not succumb. Nothing would take away the itsy bitsy victory she'd just won.

"Did Gambit ever tell y' how much he hate dis collar?" Gambit said with all seriousness. 

Rogue was taken aback by his comment. _Guess Ah deserved that one._

Gambit gave a small grin, just a twitch at one corner of his mouth, and squeezed her wrist lightly. _Dis femme just don't ever play fair, does she, Remy?_ In a tone only slightly less serious than last he spoke, he added, "It be more of a pain den it be worth." _Ain't dat de trut'! Dieu!_

Rogue smiled and her tears eased, never crowning her lower lid. _Thank Gawd._

Bobby looked from Rogue to Gambit and made a decision. He held the ice for Gambit to take, "I'll clean this up. You take care of her." He immediately went to work on the biscuit mess.

Gambit carefully held the ice to her burned hand. He didn't look at her as he spoke the next few words, "Y' sure know how to take de fun out of being angry wit' y', chere," He shrugged. "Getting hurt and all."

"It wasn't my intention to make it harder on ya, Remy," Rogue said, her voice barely a whisper. "You believe me, right?"

"I believe ya, chere." Gambit sighed. "Dis isn't over yet, t'ough. Y're not getting off dat easy. Not by a long shot." _Why'd y' have to bring up dat bozo, Remy?_ [2] "Me eit'er."

Rogue nodded her acknowledgment even as she said, "Ah… Ah know."

"…And the greatest of teachers won't hesitate to leave you there, by yourself, chained to fate. I alone love you. I alone tempt you. I alone love you. Fear is not the end of this…" (I Alone –by Live)

Logan was mighty pleased with himself. _My job here is done… Now ta get some danged sleep._

With his kinesthetic sense, his spatial sense, Gambit felt Logan leave the kitchen. _Now if only I could get rid of de slushy._

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

FOOTNOTES:

[1] Quoted from Uncanny X-Men # 248.

[2] Longshot! You have to remember lovable, lucky Longshot from the Australia days before Rogue was sucked into the Siege Perilous. Remy met him in early X-Men issues (non Uncanny), and he once asked Rogue, "How you really feel 'bout dat Longshot character?" right after he asked "What's y' real name, Rogue?" I think it was in the first Rogue Limited Series, issue 1, or right about that time in the mainstay series.

****

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~


	8. Chapter 08 Reconcile

****

A/N: Prepare yourselves, this is really a long chapter! 

****

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Seether

Chapter Eight – Reconcile

By Randirogue

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

"…From in the shadow she calls and in the shadow she finds a way, finds a way. And in the shadow she crawls, clutching her faded photograph, my image under her thumb with a message for my heart, yes, with a message for my heart. She's been everybody else's girl maybe one day she'll be her own…" (Girl -by Tori Amos)

Rogue tasted the cover with her fingertips. There was so much there to devour. It still caught her off guard, the feel of things. How many hours had she had now with such a swollen sensitivity of the flesh? How many days? The collar was the cause of it. The return of the flesh. Funny, since the collar was once the means of the theft of her flesh… her virginity. Well, in the traditional sense of penetration at least. 

That make her jerk. She'd known that, but she hadn't known that. If only she could remember the details.

**__**

"That's because it's locked away in the Core. Carol couldn't even access that. Ah grew up in the Core, though, so Ah know."

Rogue returned to her feast. The feel of the book truly amazed her. This was the most pristine copy of the Diaries that they had come across. The leather was oiled and felt waxy. The binding and corners had stretch marks from repeated folding, but didn't have the expected curl to the edges. It was thicker at the very bottom, reaching about an inch up and stretching all along its width. A musty odor rose from that area. Those were sure signs of water damage. But even that seemed as thought it had been worse at a previous time. At the top, slips of paper stuck out from between pages proving that it had been recently studied. Everything about the book revealed that its last owner had restored it and had handled it with extreme care. 

__

This volume had been loved, cherished, prized... Why, Erik?

She feathered her fingertips across the title. The inscription was an old indentation, smoothed even in some places. She slid her fingers between the closed front and back cover. She felt the hundreds of edges of the pages. It was surprising how many individual sheets could be felt in this way. It was like holding the palm of your hand to the strings of a harp. Only there was more of them, packed closer together… and sharp.

__

Ow!

Giggle.

Rogue brought the paper cut to her mouth and sucked on it for a moment. Then she inspected the slice intently. It was only about half an inch long. It only went a few layers of skin deep.

__

Nothing that tiny should be allowed to sting so much. This is just stupid.

"..don't have to look through it now, Rogue." Xavier said.

Rogue returned her attention back to the room around her. She was in the war room, sitting at the conference table. It was the debriefing for the recon team that had gone to Genosha to check on Magneto. Not everyone currently residing in the mansion was present. Since it wasn't a serious battle-ready situation, only the first stringers were present: Xavier, Scott, Jean, Warren, Wolverine, Nightcrawler, Storm, Bobby, Rogue, Gambit, and Bishop. The more recent additions to the team—Emma, Sage, Neal, Jono, and Stacy X—had not been summoned. Rogue wished it involved an even smaller group since so much of the debriefing figured around her. The volume of Destiny's Diaries that she now felt up had been found in a resealable plastic bag in a safe in Magneto's private quarters in his citadel on Genosha.

"Hadn't planned on it," Rogue answered Xavier plainly.

"But he wasn't there?" Logan asked, eager to return the conversation back to Magneto. He noticed how Rogue tuned out while the discussion centered on her.

"No," Scott said. He shook his head. He still couldn't believe it. "Essex left that note." 

The note was lying in a computer scanner and was projected onto the large screen monitor that took up most of the wall. It said:

__

X-Men,

Do not fret over Magnus. He is in capable hands. Mine, of course. He left a little something in the safe in his room. The safe's code is the date on which the crystal wave flooded the universe [1]. _See that Rogue gets what he keeps in there. Magnus would want her to have it._

I've made copies for myself, of course.

~Essex.

Rogue returned her attention to the book. The others turned their discussion towards deciding on whether to attempt a search and rescue operation for Magneto. Believe it or not, due to recent, very personalized attacks on the X-Men, there were a lot of leave-him-to-the-wolves comments. Xavier was decidedly unhappy with that turn of not-quite-so-high-moral-ground attitude of his X-Men so he adjourned the meeting for the time being. 

The attendants broke away, most leaving immediately. Some tried to converse with others, giving pause before making their exit. Bobby was in a category of his own. He stayed in his seat beside Rogue, but he didn't attempt conversation. He watched her with a studiously quiet gaze. 

Gambit leaned in close to Rogue, and whispered, "Can we talk now?"

She flinched. Gambit cringed at first. But then he softened when he realized that it was because he'd startled her and not specifically because of his closeness.

She looked at him, smiling evenly, and answered, "Yes."

As they were leaving, Hank caught up with them. "Let me apologize in advance for this, Gambit, but I must insist upon Rogue's joining me in the lab. We have some results to discuss and many more tests to perform."

"Can't it wait," Rogue asked. She needed to talk to Gambit.

"It's okay, chere. Remy not be going anywhere anytime soon. We'll talk later."

Rogue nodded.

"Dat a promise?"

Rogue nodded again. When he turned to head in the other direction, she reached out for him. "Come with me," She made it a question, a plea.

Gambit smiled warmly. "Glad to."

****

~~~~~~~~~~~

"…We told you all of our secrets, all but one. So, don't you even try, the phone has been disconnected. Dripping with blood and with time and with your advice. Poison me against the moon. I escape into your escape into our favorite fearscape. It's across the sky and across my heart and I cross my legs. Oh, my god. First my left foot then my right behind the other. Bread crumbs lost under the snow…" (Mother –by Tori Amos)

Red-orange-yellow fire breathed in the fireplace. The colored light tripped from the hollow to golden vases to golden candelabras to golden gilt frames and rebounded. The room glowed warm from it. Vargas enjoyed how it mingled and repelled his own duality. The scholar in him welcomed the satiating histrionic aesthetics inherent in that style of illumination. The warrior in him abhorred the cloistering effect of it. There was a philosophy of alacrity inherent in both. 

He bent over his table and looked from one book to the other. He was seeking solidarity between his budding theory and the possibilities actualized by Destiny and recorded in her diaries. He compared four pages, two from each book. One book showed the woman entangled with him and formulating a hold over earth and the universe beyond. The other book showed the images that lead him to choose Rogue as his first kill. It was puzzling him. 

__

Why is it in one book I eliminate Rogue while the other book clearly presents an altogether different role?

He was never to solve it with just the diaries he possessed. The connection was in other books. All the books were needed to solve the enigma. And even then, Mystique and Destiny had never been able to solve the riddle themselves.

__

What is fated and what is possible?

Don't we all desire the answer to that one?

****

~~~~~~~~~~~

"Go, go, go, go now. Out of the nest, it's time. Go, go, go now, circus girl, without a safety net. Here, here, now, don't cry, you raised your hand for the assignment. Tuck those ribbons under your helmet, be a good soldier. First my left foot, then my right behind the other… We told you all of our secrets. All but one, so don't you even try. The phone has been disconnected. Dripping with blood and with time and with your advice…" (Mother –by Tori Amos)

Vargas asked himself, "What is fated and what is possible?" Some people just ask it differently.

"What _could_ be versus what _should_ be?" 

That may have been how Henry Peter Gyrich phrased the question to an assembly of politically powerful men and women, but he meant it to mean, "What is _right_ and what is _wrong_?"

"That is what we ask ourselves every time we make a decision concerning mutants in this country," Gyrich continued. Those of us gathered here today know the answer to that. Mutants cannot be suffered." He held up two volumes of Destiny's diaries and said, "We have the opportunity to end the mutant plague by using one mutant's powers against them all."

The room exploded in commotion. Gyrich drank it all in. He lived for this. At one time it was a budding theory, a dislike, an undernourished bigotry. The disappearance and subsequent death of his wife and daughter provided all the nourishment needed to cultivate him into an engineering political force against all mutants. It was that source of nourishment that brought his attention to the diaries and the diaries to this assembly.

Gyrich found the first diary a year ago. It arrived in his mail with no return address, no fingerprints, no traceable link, whatsoever. He'd flipped through it and had all but disregarded it as pro-mutant propaganda until one particular page choked him. The page was filled with several images in circular pattern. The circle was topped by an image of what had to be Gyrich himself opposite an image of his pregnant wife. The duo was in the twelve o'clock position. Images moved clockwise from him and counterclockwise from his wife with child, culminating in a bottom picture, in the six o'clock position, of a figure cocooned and caught in a spider web. The cocooned figure had arms and legs spread so that it looked like an X. The whole thing was circled by a coiling phone cord. The cord linked the phone he held to the phone his wife held. 

Clockwise from his image were two headstones, side by side. His wife's name was on one, but the other stone was unreadable. Next came a flashbulb, then a jumble of lines that he took to be dozens of double helix's melding into one double helix. After that was the cocooned figure at the bottom. 

Counter clockwise from his pregnant wife was an image of what appeared to be a crying baby chewing on a teething ring that had a cross and a pitchfork on it. Next came an image of a skunk on a leash held between two women, one with sunglasses on. The skunk seemed to be doing tricks for them as it stood on its hind legs, twirling and begging. Then there was an image of the top half of a Sentinal and the bottom half of a person being sucked into a portal that looked like a piece of women's jewelry. After that came the culminated web and X person in the cocoon.

Fittingly, it was the sight of the light bulb that ignited his righteous realization: mutants destroyed his family, and it was his duty to see them destroyed. He was more than willing to take up the mantle of that one.

However, he was dead wrong, as was a common happenstance with those who studied the diaries. Personal intentions tended to cloud the analysis. Bigotry begets bigotry. Single-minded thoughts twist sight. It feeds itself and recycles through. He saw what he wanted to see, but not what he really wanted. And because of it, his family was truly lost to him. If only he were more open. He could've had his true heart's desire, his daughter to raise in a love-filled home. His heart's desire, his daughter, could've had him. Many could've suffered less.

And Rogue may have been able to touch.

All along.

****

~~~~~~~~~~~

"…And I hate and I hate and I hate and I hate elevator music, the way we fight, the way I'm left here silent. Oh, these little earthquakes, here we go again. These little earthquakes, doesn't take much to rip us into pieces. We danced in graveyards with vampires till dawn. We laughed in the faces of kings, never afraid to burn. And I hate and I hate and I hate and I hate disintegration, watching us wither, black winged roses that safely changed their color. I can't reach you. I can't reach you. Give me life, give me pain, give me myself again…" (Little Earthquakes -by Tori Amos)

Gambit wasn't the only other attendant to Rogue's visit with Hank in the med lab. Xavier, Storm, Jean, Emma, Sage, Bobby and Wolverine joined them as well. As concerned over Rogue as he was, Gambit still found himself throwing sidelong glares to Wolverine.

Hank reported his test results from the past few days. A good deal of it was things that most of the group knew from their individual experiences with Rogue's episodes. Rogue's genetic signature was changing, a now accepted fact as part of her mutation metabolizing the genetic structures of those she absorbed into her own genetic structure thereby changing it. However, this should only occur directly after the initial absorption, even when considering the changes in her powers since her absorption of Z'Cann. Rogue's gaining control over manifesting the powers of all those she'd absorbed in the past was a sign that the metabolizing resulted from the Z'Cann changes had completed. But Rogue's genetic signature was still changing. Even more confusing—it was changing while she was wearing the collar. That raised the question, how can her mutation be active when the collar shut off all of her access to her mutation? This was question number one.

The question was written on a board to be joined with the other questions that arose with every other answer they obtained. Once a question was answered it was erased and recorded into Rogue's permanent medical history. Yet, nearly every question they'd answered spawned a new question. It was all getting very complicated and confusing. This particular question was added to the list on the board titled: _To Be Tested In Danger Room_. 

This first question was backed by Emma when she said, "Last night I detected a third party influence over Rogue and Logan's actions."

The statement affected drastic reactions from several of the group, most on the same wavelength of _Poor Rogue, violated again…_ Bobby, who had been boiling with the mixed emotions of _It could've been me_, guilt over that thought, and anger at his friend's betrayal of Gambit, her off-again-on-again boyfriend, was washed in remorse.

Gambit was evidently startled by it. Relief, sadly, and anger flared up in his ruby on onyx eyes. He asked, "Y' mean Rogue and Logan were forced to…" He couldn't finish the statement.

Emma had no problem correcting his assessment though. "Oh, no, Gambit. They were both very willing." Emma gave Rogue a sisterly smile indicating birds-of-a-feather equality between her and Rogue as she continued, "More than once. You had to fulfill your agenda didn't you, dear?"

Logan huffed with masculine pride and, yet, annoyance at Emma's propaganda over it. Bobby winced. Gambit lowered his head, hiding his pained and furious expression under the shadow of his bangs. Rogue remained neutral. She felt a pang of sympathy for Gambit, but she had resigned not to feel guilty. Of course, she had help in that area from the very third party that Emma said had spoken of.

**__**

"It may not have been love, Sugah, but it was precious nonetheless… It had been necessary. Remember that."

__

Touch hurts less… 

**__**

"Fear ain't a panic that's completely controlling ya…"

__

"Love hurts less…"

**__**

"Exactly."

Jean gave Emma a condemning look and said, "Emma and I have discussed this and we are convinced that this third party was the entity, or rather the persona, that we bumped into inside Rogue's mind."

Bobby's eyes widened, "One of the people she's absorbed?"

Gambit kept his expression guarded, but he thought, _T'ank y', T'ank y', T'ank y', T'ank_, until Emma's answer stopped him.

"No, my boy. It is a part of Rogue herself." Emma flashed that birds-of-a-feather smile on Rogue again, twisting it with impish delight, when she added, "She has an indulgent side… Several probably. Isn't that right?"

Rogue grimaced at her.

**__**

"Well, she has a point…"

Jean turned another condemning look on Emma and said, "From what we ascertained from this entity and from what we saw ourselves, Rogue has cut herself off from the earliest portion of her life. She's blocked off all memories from age six or seven and earlier."

Several concerned and sympathetic glances strayed to Rogue, who grimaced with annoyance.

"This entity calls this heavily shielded block the Core," Jean continued. "The entity says she escaped from the Core. She is a part of Rogue, but she is separate."

"And she has access to Rogue's powers even when Rogue does not," Xavier pointed out. "It was she who re-imprisoned the Shadow King and enacted the influence over Rogue and Logan by accessing Jean's and Psylocke's telepathy within Rogue."

"Don't forget what she did to Gambit," Emma reminded them happily. She turned a teasing grin on Gambit and said, "She said to tell you it was almost as fun as—"

"Emma!" Storm exclaimed with authority, "That is quite enough."

**__**

"Well it was!"

"Bitch," Bobby grumbled.

Gambit agreed with Bobby, but remained silent and guarded as he repeated to himself with greater fervor, _T'ank Dieu! T'ank Dieu! T'ank Dieu!…_

"Wait a minute, ya'll," Rogue said and looked to Gambit. "You're saying she did something to Remy last night? What did she do?"

Bobby and Hank shared a knowing glance and tried to share it with Gambit, but Gambit stayed silent and guarded.

"Well?" Rogue asked, crossing her arms in a challenge.

**__**

"Uh-oh, here it comes…" Giggle.

"Gambit was inflicted with visions, Rogue," Hank said in confusion. "He was linked telepathically."

"You made him watch it, Rogue!" Bobby snapped accusingly.

****

Giggle.

Rogue gasped. "_Ya made him watch it?!"_ She accused the entity. 

It took a moment for the realization to settle in, and once it did, Rogue's face fell. She went to Gambit, reached out to him. He didn't move, wouldn't accept her entreaty, so she hugged herself instead as she faced him.

"Ah didn't know, Remy!" Rogue cried out. When she continued, it was a plea, her second that day. "Ah swear it. Ah never would've done something like that to ya." 

She reached for him again. His arms trembled at his sides, aching to hold her, but he wouldn't. He couldn't. It was too soon. It was too raw. Rogue didn't pull back this time. She cupped his face in her hands and locked eyes with him. Both hers and his were brimming with tears. 

"Ah. Am. So. Sorry. Remy." She said separating each of the words for emphasis.

"I saw it, chere," Gambit whispered. He averted his eyes and added even quieter, "I felt y'… both of y'…"

****

Giggle. 

__

"SHUT UP!"

**__**

"Oh, hug him already."

__

"Ah am."

She did. She enveloped him in her arms. She felt the fine tremor in his arms as they met her waist and she squeezed him tighter, closer. He encircled her as well, then, and bowed his head to rest his forehead wearily on hers.

**__**

"Ah still don' see why ya like him so damned much… Bobby's so much more like Cody."

__

"Shh…"

Gambit felt a hand rest on his shoulder as he held Rogue. "Don't," he said plainly.

Rogue raised her head from Gambit to see Logan beside them. Rogue tugged her lip between her teeth.

Logan ignored Gambit's warning and said, "I'm sorry, Gumbo."

Gambit gritted his teeth. He fought against attacking Logan. He grounded himself in Rogue's embrace. "For how I found out, oui. But not for what y' did."

"No, not for that," Logan admitted ruefully. 

Gambit's whole body clenched. Logan's gaze flicked masculine pride on Rogue for the briefest instant. Still, Gambit saw it. 

A charged card punched against Logan's chest. He flew back, slammed into one of the beds and hit the floor face first.

****

Giggle.

SNIKT!

Logan was slammed against the ground again as Gambit landed on him. The point of Gambit's telescoped bo-staff pressed into the back of Logan's head. Logan felt the tickle of fine lines of blood from the three points of the staff pricking his scalp. Head wounds always bleed the most.

Wolverine poised for Gambit's next move, ready to strike back. Gambit raised the staff to slam it into the side of Wolverine's neck. Wolverine leapt up, twisted and launched, claws first, at Gambit.

Lightning cracked!

**__**

"Don't stop them. Ah was enjoyin' the show."

Hank and Bobby pulled Wolverine back and held him. Rogue and Storm held Gambit. Jean maintained a TK shield between them. She held a heated glare on Wolverine. Xavier sighed and shook his head. Bobby looked as though he wasn't sure if he really wanted to hold them apart or hit Wolverine himself. Hank's enormous strength held Wolverine with ease. Still, Hank had been flustered by the fight. It wasn't that he hadn't expected a fight between Gambit and Wolverine sooner or later. They all had expected that. The timing of it caught him off guard, though. Merely the moment before it, it had appeared as though an understanding, a reconciliation between Rogue, Gambit and Wolverine was being reached. 

Storm, on the other hand, had not been surprised. She was not fooled into thinking Gambit would be rid of his jealous anger so easily or so quickly. Accept, yes, maybe that. Forgiveness could even have eased itself in there soon enough. But the anger, the paranoia, that would remain for a while. Storm knew that it would bite at Gambit's deepest fears, eat away at his most cherished dreams like a burning acid. 

Gambit's childhood, like Rogue's, was wrought with pain, betrayal and distrust. 

__

Rogue and Gambit are alike in so many ways, thought Storm. 

Living on the streets after being abandoned by his own parents hadn't made Gambit loath to crave or dare trust a family again. Even during those wretched times, he'd even managed to care for as many others in his position as he could in the process of fending for himself.

__

And yet they are so different at the same time* Storm thought as well, _Rogue wants a family too, but her fears are so debilitating for her. She's allowed them to force her to keep those that could be the closest family always at arms length. _

It had done the opposite for Gambit as it had done for Rogue. Even the banishment from Gambit's second family, the New Orleans Thieves Guild, the LeBeau clan, didn't crack that deep-rooted desire for family of his. 

This incident between Rogue and Logan? It threatened Gambit's place in his third family, the X-Men. Worst of all, it threatened his most precious dream of a fourth family, in the future, with Rogue. Storm recognized all of this and was not fooled by the quiet, non-threatening visage Gambit maintained since the incident had occurred. Gambit's predicament pained her deeply. She had to reign in her own emotional mix of sympathy for Gambit and for Rogue and her disgust for Rogue's betrayal of her dearest friend. She had to prevent the skies from splitting with her thunderous outrage and shedding her sympathetic tears for her.

Sage, well, Sage watched in silence as she had the entire meeting. She sat on the edge of one of the beds and took it all in. She was a living computer. That was her mutation. She watched, she stored, she analyzed, she extrapolated, and formulated conclusions.

Wolverine was shaking off his itch to brawl. He didn't really want to fight the Cajun. He had no beef with him. He sympathized with Gambit's position, even though he felt no guilt in his own role in it. He and Rogue had both consented, even if they were being driven by the entity, even if they wouldn't have done it at all if it were for the entity, and even if neither he nor Rogue had any intention of ever repeating the act again. But he would brawl with Gambit because of the same aspect of himself that boasted silently over his acts with Rogue. It was that primitive part of him, that part that could go feral, berserker even when provoked just right, that part for which he called himself Wolverine.

"Go ahead, Logan. Push it…" Gambit warned, begged. "Give me a reason to shove a handful of cards down y' throat!" The force of his fury jerked Storm and Rogue as they held him.

Rogue tugged on one arm while Storm held Gambit's other arm. Rogue slid one hand up his, along his shoulder, and across to the center of his chest. She pressed herself against his side, in front and under his shoulder to hold him. With the collar on, she was so weak. She had to use the weight of her whole body against him. 

The closeness of him didn't make her flinch, didn't make her hesitate-- 

**__**

"Yes!"

__

"Thank Gawd, yes!"

--as she leaned into him and slipped one bare hand under his chin so she could capture his eyes.

"It's not worth it, Remy," Rogue said, pleading with him. Her eyes dimmed and her resolve withered oh so slightly.

**__**

"No! No, don't even think it, Rogue. Don't ya dare… Sugah, that's what this is all about. Ya'll are worth it."

Rogue slipped her arms around his waist and laid her head against his chest and whispered, "Ah'm not worth it."

**__**

"Damn it!"

Gambit stopped his protests and caught her in his arms. He stroked her hair and back. His lips feathered her forehead as he murmured to her in a combination of French and English. "Tu est avoir une fortune de ce You are worth it. Je suis ici I am here… Shh, ma petite, ma coeur my little one, my heart… C'est bien maintenant It's all right now. Everyt'ing's tres bien tout a l'heure… naguere Everything's very good right now... right now. Remy's here, chere. Ma mignonne, Remy loves y'… Chere, y' are worth it. Y' are worth more dan dis pitiful Cajun, n'est-ce pas? Oui, Je suis ici et Je t'aime I am here and I love you. Je ne suis jamais aller, ne va nulle part I'm not going, not anywhere… Je t'aime ma cherie, ma coeur, mon amour, ma petite I love you, my lovely, my heart, my love, my little one…"

It was mostly just pretty noise, but it was pretty noise that soothed them both.

**__**

"Not bad, swamp rat. … Yoah lucky she needs this right now or else Ah woulda accessed yoah catch, woulda made room for Bobby…"

__

"Shhhhhh…"

"Je t'aime aussi, Remy," Rogue whispered in his native tongue. She relished the feel of the rhythmic rise and fall of Gambit's chest against her, "I love you, too."

They were in a room full of their friends and teammates, but to them, they were the only things that existed in the world at that moment. They cried into each other. They comforted each other. They loved one another.

****

~~~~~~~~~~~

"…I wait so long for the walls to crack, but I know that I will one day have you back. And the hills are soft as a pillow. And they cast a shadow on my bed. And the view when I look through my window is an altarpiece. I'm praying for the living and the dead… I been locked out and I know we're through. But I can't begin to face up to the truth. I wait so long for the walls to crack. But I know that one day I will have you back. And I work with the bees. And every night I circle the moon. It's an act of simple devotion, but it can take forever when you've got something to prove. I been locked out" (Locked out –by Crowded House)

The inhibitor collars around his neck, wrists, and ankles were the most humiliating part. Especially, since they were made of metal.

__

How could I have been captured and imprisoned by this mad man so easily. I am Magneto, the Master of Magnetism.

He fell back against the carved natural stone wall of his cell in a mixture of defeat, futility, and righteous indignation. Rebellion swam in and out of him, too, from time to time. He let his head rest back. The cold dampness of the stone cavern felt good against his scalp, once it soaked through his thick white hair. 

__

"…I am Eric Magnus Lehnsherr… And I let my concern for her distract me…"

He was in a cave made into a cell. At least that's what it looked like to him. His powers were negated. His captor was a man who was known for reaching his own righteous agenda through treacherous ways. The irony of it was not lost on Magnus.

****

~~~~~~~~~~~

"I found the secret to life. I'm okay when everything is not okay is not okay. Oh, we turn and we turn our little blue world upside down. I said, don't we love to turn our little blue world baby upside down? Inside my head a voice, chatter, chatter, chatter, chatter, chatter, and it says 'girl you're all the same, still coming out of your mothers, still coming out of your mothers upside down.'" (Upside Down –by Tori Amos)

Rogue was being prepared to remove the collar for further tests and monitoring while using her powers. She stood in the middle of the Danger Room. Dozens of remote sensors were taped to various areas of Rogue's mostly bare body. Hank needed bare skin to attach the sensors to so that the readings would be accurate. The sensors transmitted these readings to specialized programs in the control booth's computers. Hank, Storm, Sage and the Professor were in the control booth so they could analyze the readings as they occurred, yet still able to watch Rogue and the others down below. Jean and Emma were in the Danger Room with Rogue to interact with the entity or to protect Rogue from it if need be. Logan was there because of his healing factor. He was going to be in one of the tests Hank had planned for Rogue. Gambit was there because Logan was there. Hank wanted to get readings from Rogue as she used her absorption powers. Rogue was going to be touching Logan.

The only thing Rogue wore other than socks and sneakers was a black lycra sports bra and a pair of tight, black lycra bicycle shorts. It left nothing to the imagination. She was practically all skin. Gambit, leaning against the Danger Room wall near the door, could even make out her panty line from where he stood. He didn't like that Logan was going to touch her bare skin… Again.

Gambit looked Logan over. Logan wasn't covered much more than Rogue. He at least had on a pair of old jeans. Still, his entire upper body was bared so that Hank could monitor Logan's vitals with the same type of remote sensors as were being used on Rogue. Although, Hank didn't have to shave Rogue to apply them like he had to with Logan. Gambit glowered at all that smooth bare muscled chest, back, and arms that would be expected to make contact with Rogue's bare skin and Gambit practically growled. He really didn't like Hank's testing procedures.

Even worse, though, was how they looked like a couple of lab rats with all those sensors taped to them. It reminded Remy of dark days in his own past. It reminded him of Sinister. It reminded him of how Sinister had plans for Rogue. And that thought was the main reason that Gambit was able to curb the jealous rage that kept trying to bubble up inside him. 

**__**

Interesting how it won't just go away though… n'est-ce pas? The entity mocked to herself. **_Gawd, ya'll are so much fun ta play with. _ Giggle.**

They had to figure out what Sinister wanted with Rogue before Sinister made his move on her. These tests was their only hope of doing that, so Gambit would be as helpful and as supportive as he could.

**__**

There is that, too. We're mighty thankful that the mad man gave us a hand with this collar thing, but none of us like him too much. Or trust him… It's the only reason Ah'm not putting ya'll through the ringer right now, swamp rat!

__

Huh?! Gambit thought and raised a curious brow at Rogue, who was looking up at the control booth, facing away from Gambit. _I heard somet'ing. Felt somet'ing._

The entity shut her shields tighter and gave a psychic grimace to Remy. **_How ya doin' that, swamp rat? Even Rogue can't evah heah me if Ah don't want her ta._**

"Ya'll ready, yet?" Rogue called up to the control booth.

"One more minute," Hank said over the intercom. 

Hank looked over her current readings. Her vitals and brain waves were scrolling on one of the screens. The other screens had several columns of scrolling signals also. Most of these columns were blank right then. These were the spaces he allotted to register and record the activity of Rogue's known powers that would spark to life once the collar was removed. He'd never recorded every mutant Rogue had ever absorbed so he had estimated the number of columns needed. Just to be safe, though he also inserted a command for the computer to open more columns as they were needed. 

As he looked over the power read-outs now he noticed that one column was indeed already active. This was the one he assigned to Psylocke's power signature. He also noticed that one column had been added by the computer's auto-add instruction, and that it too was active. He had been hoping for that to happen. He had purposely not allotted a column to represent the entity, so that when he activated the sensors, it would be forced to add her column and thereby tell them which column represented the entity right from the start. 

The other active column, the one he had created to represent Psylocke's telepathic powers, surprised him, though. It was on despite the use of the collar, which was odd, to say the least. Technically, no power should be active when the collar was on. Yet, here, two columns were active and she still had the collar on.

Hank compared it intently with the entity's column and saw that there was an even more specific correlation between the two. 

"Ahh, that must be how the Shadow King now remains imprisoned even with Rogue wearing the column," Hank said and the others nodded. 

Storm released a grateful sigh. She'd believed it when Emma had said that he was indeed imprisoned permanently on the astral plane. But she'd had her reservations. That was one villain that had truly terrified her for as long as she could remember. 

Hank added these tidbits to his notes. He typed a few more commands into the computer and then looked over the list of questions they were trying to solve.

The list read, simply:

How can Rogue's powers be activated while she is wearing the collar? What is the entity/cloud/shimmering voice? How does the entity have access to Rogue's powers (even when Rogue is wearing the collar)? What else is inside the Core? Does what remain inside the Core have access to Rogue's powers? What is Union? Why can Rogue control all the powers she absorbs from others (even when they can't), but cannot control her primary mutant power? What is it about Rogue and her powers that interests Sinister? 

They had come up with the list by pooling all known information about Rogue's powers and all incidents that had occurred since Rogue's first episode. Jean had suspicions that the entity had escaped long before the first episode, though not exactly when, but had been too weak until recently to have any major effect on Rogue. Nobody had any lingering belief that Rogue's recent episodes had anything to do with Rogue's change in powers as they were effected by her absorption of Z'Cann. They weren't absolutely ruling out the possibility, though. Their tests would cover that option. But nobody believed it any more. The entity and the Core were now taking the blame.

"Okay, all ready, Rogue," Xavier announced over the intercom. 

Rogue looked from Gambit, by the door, to Logan, Jean, and Emma as the last three circled around her to deal with any initial reaction of her powers being released. 

Everyone had gloves on, but she had so much skin bared. She raised her hands to the collar and paused. 

**__**

C'mon, Sugah, Ah don't have that much control over yoah powers, ya know.

Even though everyone else was protected by gloves, _she_ was without her armor of clothing. Anyone could still touch her. She took a deep breath and released it and closed her eyes and grasped the latch on the collar. And paused.

**__**

All right, already… I really do have more power ovah ya with the collar on… Really.

With her eyes still closed she took another deep breath. She gasped when she felt hands catch hold of her at her sides from behind, carefully only touching the sports bra. She looked over her shoulder to see Gambit smiling reassuringly at her and she sighed, more relieved. She unlatched the collar.

Nothing.

They all looked at each other.

"Was it just me, or were ya'll expecting some kind of big bang or something, too?" Rogue asked.

Gambit chuckled quietly. _Dat's my Roguey._

He was sure she was okay now that the big moment was over so he removed his hands from her sides. Still, he couldn't bring himself to completely remove himself from her so he caressed a few fingers on the fabric of the sports bra on her back. Up and down, up and down, up and down. He couldn't help himself. 

In the back of his mind the thought, _Don' push her too much, too fast, Gambit,_ flitted around, but he'd wanted this for so long. Yes, he wanted to make love to her. How could he not? She was beautiful, passionate, tenacious, full of fire and sass, and therefore damn sexy. But more than that, he wanted to stroke her back without her flinching from him. He wanted what Bobby—and even Logan—seemed to have so easily. He wanted the little touches that made up true intimacy.

**__**

"Getting a little grabby, ain't he?"

__

"Shush up. Ah kinda like it."

**__**

"Ya would… Ah can make him stop whenever ya want. Just let meh know…"

__

"What do ya mean, make him—"

"Well, should we do something? Or do you just want us to stand here and look pretty?" Emma asked. She looked over to Logan and grinned, "Well those who can, of course."

"Give us a minute," Xavier said through the intercom as he watched lines and lines of text and code scroll by in rapid succession on all the screens. "We're getting quite a lot from the sensors."

"These screens are going nuts, Rogue," Bobby said excitedly.

__

They're not alone… Rogue rubbed her temples trying to ease her increasing headache. "_Would ya stop banging around in theah? Ah don't want him ta stop."_

**__**

"It ain't all about HIM, ya know… 'Sides, it's not like Ah'm alone in heah. The others are wakin' too." The entity felt the pulsing edges of the Core.**_ "IT's wakin' up, too." _Giggle.**

__

"What are ya—"

"Rogue, do you know if all this activity is from the powers you've absorbed or your own absorption powers?" Hank asked over the intercom.

__

Damn you've got poor timin', Hank. Rogue thought, but answered aloud, "Don't know what ya mean."

"Well, what do you feel? Can you feel your powers? Can you sense their presence, their accessibility?" Hank asked.

"Right now, it feels kinda like when ya get pins and needles, but all over, all at once, even in my head. It's like static. It should clear up soon enough, though."

"Let me know when it does," Hank said and returned his attention to the screens. 

He brought up Rogue's own genetic signature scans and looked over it. The moment the collar was shut off, her signature changed drastically. But it actually got closer to what it had been before Z'Cann. It was as though her DNA not only actually took into account that it metabolized other DNA, but it compensated for it as well. Like it took the information, the powers, and made it her own even as it kept them separate. Hank pulled up Rogue's earliest medical record from when she joined the X-Men. Sure enough, her current genetic signature was different from the original one, but it wasn't far off. To an outsider, it would have looked as though the two compared signatures were of relatives, cousins or aunt and niece, something within that closeness.

"Very interesting indeed," Hank said.

"What wrong?" Bobby asked, trying to cover up his concern with his curiosity, but failing. He wanted to stay angry with Rogue, but his caring for her was making that very difficult.

Hank gave Bobby a sympathetic glance, but then quickly replaced it with professionalism. He truly felt for his best friend and the position he's placed himself in.

"It's okay, Bobby," Hank said. "There's nothing wrong per se. There's just a lot more information here than I had expected." Hank turned to Xavier. "I'm not going to have too many answers during this session as I'd hoped." Hank sighed and messaged the bridge of his nose. "It's going to take a while to analyze this."

"That is why I am here, McCoy," Sage said. It startled everyone in the room. She'd been so quiet during all this, they had almost forgotten she was there.

"Indeed, it is," Hank said and turned back to the monitors.

The scrolling codes were slowing, revealing that Rogue's powers were steadying themselves. He watched them until they had fully slowed to what should represent an active, yet relaxed state. They all moved at roughly the same rate. All except two columns. One was hardly active enough to have prompted a display of it let alone the system's recording of it. 

"It couldn't be, could it?" Hank asked, pointing out the quiet column to Xavier, who looked over it with curiosity.

"A latent power," Xavier said, making it a question. 

Sage, Storm and Bobby perked up with that. Xavier studied the column a little more and compared it to the first entry of Rogue's medical files from when she first joined the X-Men. 

"No, it's not," Xavier said out loud with surety. "See, she didn't have it before. It's likely a strong non-mutant talent, Collossus' artistic ability or Kitty's skill with computers, something like that." 

Telepathically, Xavier said to Hank, "_Keep an eye on it, though. It could be a latent power she absorbed from someone else."_

"_Or even what we originally suspected_…" Hank felt Xavier's mental nod of agreement and studied both files, then nodded and said aloud, "I believe your assessment is correct. But I'll keep an eye on it as well."

Neither Hank nor Sage noticed Sage's silent curiosity over their exchange. _They are hiding something,_ she thought.

Hank returned his attention to the other column that stood out from the rest. It was an extremely complex, dense coding. It moved at a much quicker speed than all the others, denoting active use. He pointed this one out to Xavier as well.

"Rogue, are you using any power right now? Telepathy, maybe." Xavier asked over the intercom. He doubted Rogue was able to use that particular power without alerting him to it, but it was worth asking.

"No, Professer," Rogue answered.

"How do you feel?" Hank asked.

"Normal, Ah guess," Rogue answered.

"**_Normal, ha! Ya'll aren't even complete. Ya need Union."_**

__

"Shush up about that, will ya!"

"That must be her original power, her absorption power. It does seem to regulate all the other powers." Hank said to Xavier after taking a final glance at the quicker, more complex column. 

"That would make sense," Xavier admitted, skeptically. An idea hit him, and he activated the intercom. "Rogue, could the entity be using any of your powers without your knowledge?"

Rogue grimaced. She hated any and all references to her lack of control. She hated it even more that she had to admit that the entity did seem to have more control than she did herself in some respects. 

"It's possible," Rogue admitted with a slightly defeated sigh. She felt Gambit stiffen at her back.

"Dat so, petite?" His voice was a blend of surprise, sympathy, and suspicion.

"She did it last night, didn't she?" Rogue snapped, shaking Gambit's hand off her back. 

__

Merde! Y' just had to push it, didn't y' Gambit* Gambit thought.

**__**

"Ya show him, Sugah."

Rogue took a step away from Gambit and addressed Hank in the control booth. "She can use my powers and Ah can't always stop her. Ah can usually tell that she's doing something, just not what she's doing. An if she's doing more than one thing, it's even harder to tell."

"What about now?" Xavier asked.

Rogue closed her eyes and felt around inside herself. "Naw, she just watching right now."

****

Giggle.

Hank and Xavier looked to one another. Hank shrugged. "Probably our first assessment, but we'll find out soon enough." Xavier nodded in response. Hank spoke through the intercom, "Okay, Logan, your turn."

"Good luck, Sugar," Rogue said as she handed the collar she'd just removed to Logan. 

Everyone watched Logan closely as he put it on. In the control booth, Hank and the others watched the Logan's readouts effectively go flat-line. 

"All powers are nullified," Hank announced inside the booth.

Hank looked at Logan's vital signs readings and though they had sped up a little to compensate for Logan's lack of healing factor, allotting the beginnings of adamantium poisoning, but they seemed in order. 

"Okay, Logan, take it off," Hank told Logan over the intercom. 

They'd seen Logan go through adamantium poisoning once before, when the high evolutionary and Sinister had removed all mutants' powers, and it wasn't pretty. Nobody wanted to put Logan through that again. Well, Remy maybe, but that was just a petty knee-jerk response and he didn't really mean it.

Logan took off the collar and all of his readings returned to normal so they turned their attention back to Rogue. All except for Sage, that is. She had split her attention between the quicker, more complex column on Rogue's readout and the columns of Logan's powers. She continued to watch them for a few moments more after they regulated. She tuned everyone out and she analyzed…analyzed…analyzed…analyzed…extrapolated…extrapolated…and…

"...initializing power test one," Hank was saying. "Rogue, just—"

"Wait," Sage said. 

She pushed her way to the monitors. Hank let her in with a curiously raised brow. Sage typed some commands and Rogue's and Wolverine's monitors blanked. The readings shifted to one monitor, side by side for comparison, and replayed the last few minutes. 

"What do you see?" Sage asked.

Intrigued, Hank watched the codes scroll by. At first, it seemed as mundane as they had seemed upon his first study. But then he noticed the small difference that Sage wanted him to see. In the most dense and complex of Rogue's columns, one line of code disappeared and reappeared in synch with that of Logan's reading. In short, a secondary repetition of Logan's manifestation in Rogue existed within that most complex and confusing column of Rogue's reading. And that repetition seemed to be directly linked with Logan himself right then, as though Rogue was absorbing him constantly.

"Fascinating," Hank mused as he added another note to his ever-growing list of notes. He also added another question to the list. 

9. Is Rogue continuously connected to those people whom powers she has access to and not just retaining a genetic memory of those powers? 

"Rogue, did you feel anything when Logan activated the collar?" Hank asked over the intercom. 

"Not a thing, Hank," Rogue answered, a question in her eyes, "Why?"

"Logan put the collar on again please?" Hank watches as Logan does so, then checks the monitors to see once again the same disappearing code from both Rogue's and Logan's readings. 

"Do you still have Logan's claws?" Hank asked. 

In response, Rogue popped them. A slight grimace flicked across her face in sync with the familiar SNIKT! Despite her invulnerability and healing factor, they still hurt a bit every time she popped them. She looked up to Hank and he nodded, so she retracted them. She watched the skin heal around the holes they had made in her hand. Her healing ability still fascinated her as much as the remaining pinch of pain that the claws exit had made still annoyed her.

Hank typed some commands into the computer and a holographic image melted around the four X-Men below. The walls and ceilings remained normal, but the floor became a field dense with hundreds of varieties of flowers and grasses that reached to their knees. Hank looked down to Rogue from the Observation Booth. "Okay, Rogue, use Logan's senses to find the dandelion."

Rogue scoffed at him, "Couldn't come up with anything harder?"

"We're not testing your use of the abilities as much as your access of them, Rogue," Xavier said through the intercom. "We will get to that later on."

"Whatever," Rogue said as she sniffed the air and waded through the grass and flowers. About forty seconds later, she grinned. She plucked the sole dandelion and held it up to present it to Hank and the others in the Observation Booth.

"Very good, Rogue," Hank said and made notes. As predicted, the column specifically representing Logan's powers imprinted into Rogue had sped up while she had used them. Yet, still, the coding within the most complex column was still gone. 

"Logan, you can take it off now," Hank said over the intercom. To Xavier, inside the booth, he added, "Well, the connection seems to be superficial. She has access regardless of whether or not the original power's owner has access."

In the Danger Room down below, Logan removed the collar for the second time that day. He jerked when the onslaught of the potent scents of the myriad of flowers and grasses hit him like a sledgehammer. He eyed Rogue with curiosity, "How'd ya find it so fast, darlin'?"

Gambit felt a slight pang with Logan's use of the word 'darling.' Inwardly, he knew the endearment meant no more than it ever had before, but now it was a stab every time he heard it. The stab echoed with the briefest flash of a memory of what he'd seen the night before.

****

Giggle.

Gambit's head whipped to Rogue. He'd heard that. It wasn't Rogue's voice, but it felt like it came from Rogue. He eyed Rogue in a mix of suspicion and concern. He watched Rogue's wistful expression as she graced the flower's silky petals across her cheek and smiled at Logan. 

Gambit wondered, _Do y' really not know, chere?_

**__**

"Not if Ah don't want her ta. Ah exist because she doesn't wanna know certain things."

"What are y' up to, petite?"

**__**

"Yoah starting ta really piss meh off, swamp rat. Stay outta it… Unless ya wanna end up outta Rogue's favor when Union comes. And it will."

Logan stepped up to Rogue, pulling Gambit's attention away from the telepathic communication with the entity. Gambit knew it wasn't logical, but he disliked Logan being near Rogue more than he disliked the entity. It seemed the more immediate threat, even though it was unlikely Logan would ever hurt Rogue. _More likely t' pleasure her_, Gambit thought. Another stab to his chest. Besides, when have emotions been logical?

"Well?" Logan pursued.

"Trade secret," Rogue said coyly.

"Don't give me that crap, Rogue. You shouldn't be able to use my powers better'n me," Logan said, getting annoyed.

Rogue sighed, losing a bit of her playfulness. "Ah didn't, Logan. Ah just like dandelions a whole lot. Cody used to pick 'em for me all the time."

Logan put a hand on Rogue's sports bra covered back, "Sorry, Rogue." His heightened senses heard and smelled Gambit step up behind him and Rogue, but he didn't remove his hand from her.

"Off, Logan," Remy practically growled. 

Rogue turned around, anger streaking her face. Logan did move then, to prevent skin to skin contact of their bared upper arms.

"What's your problem, Remy?" Rogue asked. She wasn't angry, yet. But she was mildly annoyed.

**__**

"Yeah, what is yoah problem, swamp rat?" **Giggle**.

Gambit jerked back. "_Y' didn't!_"

**__**

"Yes, ah did.**_"_**

"Remy!" Storm announced over the intercom. "If you keep this up we will ask you to leave. Do you understand?"

Gambit looked to his hands to see three cards had been drawn and charged to their full potential. He pulled some of the power back into himself, but they'd been charged far too much and he'd been holding them too long to extinguish the potential completely. He quickly tossed the cards to the far wall. Holographic flowers and grass sprayed all over them from the resulting explosion. 

Gambit hadn't even realized he'd drawn the cards.

"I hear y', Stormy," he said as he backed up to the wall by the door again. 

"He didn't do it, Storm," Xavier said from the booth.

Storm looked questioningly to Xavier, as did everyone else in the Observation Booth.

Xavier had noticed a connection between three of Rogue's columns on the screen. The overactive column, the dense and complex one, had one set of codes that repeated itself more often in the sequence even though the column didn't speed up at all. At the same time, the column that represented the entity sped up, and had greater repetition of the matching code within it. Xavier then found the original source of that repeating code in a third column, which became more active as well. It was the column that registered Gambit's powers imprinted in Rogue. 

Xavier didn't voice the specifics, but instead said simply, "I believe it was the entity. And She is linked with this more active column." 

Telepathically to Hank, Xavier added, "_The entity is directly linked to that mysterious column,_ w_hich I'm beginning to think is this Core they keep speaking of_."

Analyzing… analyzing… analyzing…Sage picked up on Charles and Hank's silent communication. They were definitely hiding something. If they wanted to hide things from Rogue and the others, that was just fine. She was more than capable of figuring it out on her own. 

"_Our suspicions are gaining more and more ground, Professor_."

"_Yes, Hank. But I fear it may be even more than we had anticipated_."

Extrapolating…Extrapolating…and… Sage wasn't going to let them distract her. 

**__**

"Uh-oh_… Ah think they found something, Sugah_…**_"_**

Rogue looked up to the booth. She couldn't make out exactly what was going on, but there was a lot of movement. 

Inside the booth, Xavier felt the entity's probing of him, listening in on them. He turned to look down on Rogue to see if she was even aware of the entity's activities and was assured by Rogue's expression, that Rogue, was indeed, in the dark.

****

~~~~~~~~~~~

"You're counting my feathers as the bells toll. You see the bow and the belt and the girl from the south… all favorites of mine. You know them all well. And spring brings fresh little puddles that makes it all clear, makes it all… hey, do you know, hey do you know, what this is doing to me? Oh, here. Here. Here. In my head…" (Here. In my head. –by Tori Amos)

…And heart…

Magnus slowly blinked his eyes as consciousness returned to him. The bright light shining in his eyes made him want to keep them closed. 

"Ahh, you're awake," Essex said and he moved the light so that it wasn't so directly in Magnus' eyes. It was a gesture of concern, oddly enough, since Essex had just completed exploratory surgery on him without consent. "Is that better?"

Magnus just grunted in anger. He tried to get a look at the room he was in. All he could see was the ceiling directly above him, a mechanical contraption that hung down over him with dozens of pliable arms snaking from it, and the bright light that had been moved out of his eyes. His peripheral vision was still fuzzy and he couldn't turn or bow his head in any direction to see any more of the room. His arms, legs, and hips were bound just as securely to the cold table on which he was laying. Cold table. He just realized that part. And that he was indeed lying down on his back. He was also still without his powers, even though he was not wearing any collars. 

Pain, aching and throbbing, ran twin lines from his chest to his lower abdomen. Panic seized him as he put the clues together. 

__

That mad man cut me up!

"Calm down, Magnus," Essex said as he rested a hand on Magnus' shoulder. "You will tear the stitches before the nannites have finished closing the wounds." 

Magnus ceased his futile thrashing, little as they were considering his bound state, and Essex removed his hand from Magnus' shoulder. 

"That's better," Essex said as he released the restraints on Magnus' head.

Once his head was freed, Magnus sighed and relaxed. He was humiliated. All he could do was watch as Essex inspected his handiwork and get his bearings more clearly in the room. From what he could see, it was some sort of recovered old medical facility, filled with all sorts of extremely advanced medical equipment. The equipment, though, was more advanced than anything Magnus had owned himself. In fact, the only other time he'd ever seen equipment of this magnitude was the Shiar adapted equipment at…

"Xavier… You stole this from Xavier…" Magnus croaked out. His voice was dry and hoarse. _How long was I unconscious_?

"I do not steal. The Cajun always took care of that," Essex paused, letting the information sink into Magnus. When it did, when the sneer crawled across Magnus' face, Essex grinned. It was always so much fun to toy with his subjects.

"I know he worked for you…" Magnus croaked out. It came out as a threat.

Essex, having gotten what he'd wanted, Magnus' reaction, continued as though Magnus never spoke. 

"The government appropriated this equipment when Operation Zero Tolerance went into effect. At its end, I had the equipment turned over to one of my aliases." He surveyed the room with pride. "It really is remarkable technology." He mused for a moment, watching Magnus' furious expression, knowing what it was for. "They had all they ever needed to grant Rogue the control she has always sought." He paused, again letting the information sink in. He savored the twist of surprise and doubt that mixed in with Magus' fury. "I wonder why they never offered it to her."

A monitor BEEPED. 

The BEEPS came from behind Essex, from a section of the room that Magnus had not yet been able to see because the mad man's body blocked it from view.

"Speaking of Rogue," Essex said with a sardonic grin. He turned and went to where the beep came from. Magnus could see the wall much more clearly now. It was a wall of monitors. One of them showed a video feed, without sound, of the Observation Booth of the Danger Room. Three others showed video feed of the Danger Room from opposing angles. Magnus nearly gasped as what he saw there.

Emma, Jean, Logan and Gambit stood off to the sides as Rogue fought with constructs of the holographic program. He ignored most of them, especially Gambit, mostly to keep his mounting anger from getting the better of him and causing him to rip out the stitches with his futile thrashes. He watched Rogue, though. She was hardly wearing a thing, just sneakers, socks, a sports bra, and tight shorts. She was sweating profusely, evident by the dark swallows on her barely there clothing, the hair plastered to the sides of her face, and the slight sheen on her skin when the light hit it just right. 

Rogue was using several powers not her own, as far as Magnus had known. He watched her toss charged cards at one opponent, blast another with optic beams, strike one with lightning, and freeze another. The opponents were coming faster and faster, though. She Bamfed away from one, used the sound to create a laser to shoot another, a telekinetic bubble crushed one more. She phased through one, absorbed an energy beam of another and directed it back at it. Over and over again she used the combined powers of every one he had ever recognized that she had come into contact with. When she popped Logan's claws from her hands, Magnus watched closer to see if the were laced with adamantium, but of course they were not. Before he could process that, one of her opponents gouged her side. Magnus held his surprise and confusion in check when he saw Rogue's wound close up on its own. But the wound had slowed her down and her opponents were piling in on her. 

Magnus' jaw tightened. He had a feeling he knew what would come next and he didn't want to see it. He didn't want it to be true. But it was. A blue/purple haze surrounded the pile. The metal opponents shook and then were thrown in every direction at a speed that the video feed was barely able to register as anything more than a blurred streak. The others in the room took cover from the shrapnel. Rogue was left alone in the center of the room. Blue/purple energy crackled off of her with frightening intensity. Slowly, a bubble of the same energy enveloped her and she rose up from the floor not under her own flying ability, not from Storm's summoned winds, not from Jean's telekinesis, but from his own magnetic powers… and maybe Joseph's too. But Magnus didn't like that she had absorbed Joseph as well. That she had touched him… kissed him, maybe. Little did he truly know about his southern friend, and one time ally, and one time…

"It isn't possible…" Magnus whispered as he watched everyone that was in the Danger Room and in the Observation Booth react to Rogue's display of power with fearful and astonished expressions. He knew how they felt.

"Oh, but it is, Magnus," Essex supplied without taking his attention from the few monitors that his body still blocked from Magnus' view. "Rogue is now a veritable one woman army." 

Magnus listened to him, but he kept his attention on the monitors that showed Rogue in the Danger Room. The bubble snapped off in the blink of an eye and Rogue plummeted down. She caught herself in a crouch that was identical to a combined use of Gambit and Psylocke's skill and agility. It was easy, smooth, and lithe.

"Rogue can now access all powers she had ever absorbed from anyone… Ever. And it seems, she now has control over them."

Rogue stayed in the crouch for a long time. The others approached her, even those from the booth. Rogue raised just her head then, directly into the line of the camera that sent the video feed to Sinister's monitors. It was as though she was staring right at Magnus, himself, along that feed, across all those miles that probably separated them at that moment. He felt as though she was pleading with him as stubborn tears creeped down her cheeks.

"It is truly amazing, isn't it," Sinister said with a combination of awe and sickening scientific arousal.

"What have you done to her?" Magnus asked, still keeping his attention on Rogue. Most of the X-men stayed several feet back because of her bared skin. Three moved closer, though—Wolverine, Gambit, and Iceman. Rogue threw them a warming glare through her tears.

"I have done nothing. I haven't needed to. Rogue is becoming what she was meant to be," Sinister said with that same twisted grin.

Magnus watched Wolverine and Gambit stop their approach in response to Rogue's glare. Iceman, surprisingly to Magnus, continued towards her though. He was fully dressed and wore gloves. He knelt before her and grasped her shoulders as Rogue's entire body tensed and a severe grimace of pain contorted her face. Beast rushed out of the Danger Room and up to the Observation Booth just in time to watch the monitors registering Rogue's accessing another mutant's powers. 

"I am waiting," Sinister continued despite the turmoil showing on the screens. 

Magnus was riveted to the image of Rogue's tortured form as her back bucked into a severe arch, then quickly curled forward again. Wolverine leapt forward, but not within touching distance. Gambit flinched like he was going to jump to her too, but he remained where he was. He settled for a brief hateful at both Iceman and Wolverine, before turning concerned eyes on Rogue again.

Rogue's shoulder blades swelled. Bigger, bigger, two points pushed out the skin on her upper back. Then the points burst from her skin. Blood streamed down her back like tears. The points grew, extended, a joint formed in each one and they bent at an oddly graceful angle. They were bones, Magnus soon realized just before skin and feathers started flowing from the bones. Within twenty minutes Rogue had Angel's wings spanning their full breadth from her back.

Rogue collapsed forward, allowing Iceman to hold her as sobs wracked through her. The wings curled delicately around the two of them.

Magnus was stunned.

Sinister was pleased. 

"I may not have to wait much longer, though," he said as he turned towards Magnus. "I have many preparations to make, so if you'll excuse me." 

Magnus tried to continue watching the video feed while Sinister removed the bindings and replaced the collars on him. Magnus saw Gambit finally approached Rogue and tentatively finger the feathers on Rogue's new wings. The expression he wore both stunned and angered Magnus more, though Magnus only revealed it with the hard lines on his brow. Love was there in Gambit's expression, sure enough, the gut wrenching uncontrollable kind of love that could near obsession if a person was pushed just the right way. It almost drowned out everything else that was evident in Gambit's visage. But there was so much more there. There was jealousy, which surprised Magnus—

__

Who or what would that scoundrel, that gene-traitor, be jealous of? He's wrapped her to his designs from almost the beginning. Even in his own head, it sounded like a growl.

There was heartache—

__

Serves him right…

A gnawing tormented worry... and fear.

"No, wait!" Magnus called out as he was dragged, struggling the entire way, out of the room, losing sight of the monitor. _Fear of what?!_

So caught up in the video feed of the Danger Room, Magnus never saw the other monitors which showed the similar columns of Rogue's powers that were displayed on Hank's monitors in the Observation Booth of the Danger Room.

Half way down the hall, Magnus finally stopped his thrashing. He'd torn his stitches a bit and blood edges the wounds. But he didn't feel it. He didn't even notice who had been dragging him away. He didn't care about any of that. All he cared about was finding out what Sinister had planned for Rogue and what he was going to do to stop it. Well, that, and the expression that had plagued Gambit's face. He thought about that too. He'd recognized every bit of it easily… Read it like he could read his own face… his own moods. Why shouldn't he have been able to? The same look, the same emotions had crossed him on more than one occasion. For the same reason as it struck Gambit. For something he'd set aside long ago. For something that ached in him from time to time… every now and then.

For Rogue. 

****

~~~~~~~~~~~

"In my head I found you there and running around and following me, but you don't, oh, dare, now. But I find that I have, now, more than I ever wanted too." (Here. In My Head. –by Tori Amos)

"I'm sorry. I'm sorry. I'm sorry…" Bobby murmured to her over and over again as he held her. He didn't even take care to make sure the bared skin of their faces touched. It was the last thing on his mind. He just didn't want her to hurt anymore. He just wanted everything better for her. She could be with Gambit, sleep with Logan, never talk to him again. She could do anything that she damn well wanted as long as she would be okay again. He wouldn't be mad at her anymore. _Just be okay again._

He didn't have to say any of that to her. He barely even had to think it. If it wasn't evident in his voice, it was evident through her access to Jean and Xavier's telepathy and even more so through Gambit's empathy. The feeling behind all of it—the desperation of it—pounded its way into her. And she understood. And she accepted it. She welcomed it. 

She had her best friend back.

"It's okay, Bobby…I'm okay." She said and lifted her head from his shoulder. She looked him in the eye, taking care that none of her bared skin broached his in their closeness.

Bobby blinked a few times, clearing his eyes of his own tears, letting her words settle in. "You're okay?" He asked skeptically.

"I'm okay," Rogue said to him. 

She felt Gambit stroking the feathers and she shivered a little. She understood what Gambit wanted as well. He wanted what Bobby had wanted, but he wasn't willing to give up as much for it. Rogue smiled. She wouldn't want him too. She uncurled the wings from around her and Bobby and looked up to Gambit with as much of the smile she could give him. 

"I'm okay," she told Remy too.

**__**

"No we're not. That HURT!"

Rogue ignored the entity and concentrated on Gambit running his fingers along the feathers to the base of the wings. With one gloved finger he tentatively brushed the place where they escaped her back. 

"Y' healed it already…" he said.

"Healing factor—it's all the rage these days," Rogue said with a laugh. 

Gambit's worried frown twitched with a slight smile but remained a frown nevertheless. It stopped Rogue's nervous laughter.

"It still hurt?" Gambit asked her.

"A little, but it's fading." 

"Why'd you do it, Rogue?" Bobby asked, his pained tone turning her attention back to him. "It's not like you'll ever need them. You can fly on your own power."

"On Carol's power," Rogue corrected quietly. She sighed, then answered his real question. "Because Hank needed me to do all of them—ALL of them—so he can figure out what's going on with me. And Ah want to solve this." She turned a sympathetic gaze to Gambit, "Before anything worse happens."

Gambit nodded.

"You don't have to do anymore today," Bobby said, drawing her attention back to him.

**__**

"He's right, ya don't.**_"_**

Rogue laughed for real that time. "If Ah stop, Bobby, Hank'll never be able get me near the med lab or the Danger Room again to finish it."

**__**

"That's true, too.**_"_**

Bobby smiled. 

**__**

"Ah just love his smile.**_"_**

Rogue continued to ignore Her and focused on Bobby regardless of what She wanted. 

Bobby understood. She's always been the most stubborn person when it came to dealing with medical concerns, even worse than Gambit. She'd only gotten more stubborn when she gained controlled access to Logan's healing factor. Tests for premeditative reasons were nearly impossible to get her to comply with, let alone sessions with Jean or Xavier to help her deal with the mental strain of having so many personas within her mindscape. She always had some reasonable excuse to get out of them. And every once in a while she would give in, like today, just to keep everyone off her back about it.

"Fine," Logan said with insistence_. If she won't listen to Bobby, and Gambit won't speak up, maybe she'll listen to me_. He stepped forward, closing the distance between them until there was only a foot between them. "But this is the last one," he said as he tugged on the fingers of his gloves.

Gambit held a hand up to stop him. Logan almost growled, but caught himself. 

**__**

"Go on, swamp rat. Pick another fight with Wolvie… Upset Rogue some more."

"_Non_."

**__**

"Ah know ya want to. Ah can make ya want to. Ah can make ya do anything."

"_Non!"_ That time Gambit shook his head to help his consternation against the entity. He fought it. He felt the catch as she tickled it and he fought it. And he felt her back off.

**__**

"Ya'll're just lucky that it matters ta meh that ya matter ta her."

Gambit looked to the others and they moved off to their designated positions. All except Bobby. Gambit didn't think they'd be able to pry him from the room until Rogue left. Just like Gambit himself. Gambit felt a kinship with Bobby in that moment. When all was said and done, Bobby genuinely cared for Rogue and did a good job of it, too. Gambit wouldn't fault him for that. Then Gambit looked up to the booth to Hank and the others as they returned. He skipped by Logan and finally settled on Rogue. He had to steady his gaze before he could say what he had to say to Rogue.

He spoke slowly, forcing each word out as he said, "Way I see it y' got three more tests at de minimun if y' want Hank to get anywhere close to a real understanding of what's going on wit' y' powers."

Bobby stood up then, anger apparent on his face. He didn't want Rogue to go through with even one more test.

Gambit's gaze flicked to Bobby only for an instant before he lowered it back to Rogue. "If I figured right, y' only got Mystique's powers left to access." 

He paused as Rogue looked down. It still hurt her that her mother tried to kill her. She stabbed Rogue in the stomach with a specially designed blade. The only thing that had saved Rogue was that Mystique had seemingly not known that Rogue had Logan's healing factor… and claws.

**__**

"How could she not know. She'd studied the diaries. Don't let her fool ya. She knew exactly what was going to happen. She counted on it." The entity said it to both Gambit and Rogue, her voice shimmering with the venom of it.

"Y' have y' own power to test," Gambit swallowed hard then and looked sternly at Logan, "Y' absorption powers not de others. Y' used those in some way or ot'er during the ot'er tests."

"And her," Rogue said for him. Gambit nodded. Rogue started to stand and both Gambit and Bobby grabbed an arm to help her up.

"You get that, Hank," Logan called up to the Observation Booth, "Three more tests. Ya better get what ya need from them 'cause there won't be any more." It almost came off as a threat.

"We understand," Xavier said through the intercom.

The Danger Room wasn't needed for these last three tests. There was no need for a simulation of any kind. All that was needed was Rogue, the entity, and at least one other person. She had three others close to her though and she was grateful for each one of them. Jean and Emma were in the room, hanging back by the door, but Bobby, Gambit, and Wolverine stayed close to her. They were her grounding. She loved them more than anyone else in the world. And she was really grateful to have them.

Rogue gripped Bobby and Gambit's hands tighter as she did the first obstacle. Her image, her demeanor, herself rippled away, replaced by Mystique's own image and demeanor.

__

I'm the perfect spy now, Momma. Not only can Ah can impersonate anyone, like you can, Ah perpetuate the trick by actually using their powers, too. And your training had nothing to do with it.

Rogue held the image for an excrutiating thirty seconds. Then she let it wave away with a disgusted shake of her head.

Gambit faced her and locked eyes with her. "What y' want to do next?" He motioned to Logan with a tilt of his head, to point out that option, but careful to never lose her locked gaze. "Or her?"

Rogue nodded towards Logan.

"Y' want me to stay wit' y'? Hold y' hand?" Gambit asked and Rogue emphatically nodded. She looked to Bobby, and nodded to him too. "He'll have to touch y', then, chere. Y' okay wit' dat?" He asked tentatively. 

Rogue nodded. She also bit her lip to keep from saying the obvious, He touched a lot more last night, didn't he. But she didn't say it. The remark would've reopened wounds that seemed to have just started to heal between her, Gambit, and Bobby. But that wasn't all of it. Touch still scared her, not as much as her powers scared her anymore, not like it used to, not with this type of touch at least. And she really hated using her absorption powers despite how much she sometimes craved using them. Regardless, she wanted this solved more.

Bobby and Gambit moved to Rogue's sides as Logan moved to stand in front of her. Only a mere few inches separated her and Logan. Gambit noted that a hand would barely fit widthwise between them. Gambit felt another pang of jealousy and couldn't distinguish whether it came from the entity or him. Either way, he ignored it as best he could. He fought against it with everything that was in him.

Logan took off his glove and lifted his hand up. Bobby and Gambit squeezed Rogue's hands with their gloved hands. Rogue squeezed back in anticipation. Surprisingly, she remained carefully aware of not squeezing their hands too hard with her superhuman strength so that she didn't accidentally crush them in the process.

He showed her his gloveless hand and held it beside her cheek, just out of reach. Logan held her chin with his still gloved hand and locked eyes with her. He willed her to focus on his eyes, on him, and not his touch. She listened. His palm flattened against her cheek.

__

So soft, was his last coherent though before he felt himself drain into her.

Rogue's body gave one great spasm, her wings stretched to their quivering widest span, her mouth opened in a silent scream that she refused to let out, and she raised her hands to her head despite Bobby and Gambit's grip on them. Still, they held on, their hands pressing against Rogue's temples with her motions. That's when Wolverine collapsed. They both instinctively caught him and shoved him away from Rogue's bared skin. There was so much of it on both of their bodies that if he'd fallen against her it could've risked his life. They had to let him fall to the floor and hope that Jean and Emma would check on him. Rogue's grip on their hands was strong enough that they couldn't let go of her even if they wanted to. But they didn't want to. They both watched her with desperate concern for her carved into their faces.

"Goddess!" Storm gasped. She hadn't used the intercom and still they heard her from within the Observation Booth. It drew Bobby and Gambit's attention up there. They had to crane their neck at an odd angle to look up there because Rogue's hold on theirs hands locked them in their positions. Sage and Hank both moved frantically over the consoles. Through the booth's window, they saw Storm tending to Xavier, who clutched his head in what looked like pain. Both Gambit and Bobby then craned their head in the other direction to get a look at Jean and Emma, who both also held their head in much the same way as Xavier did. Their attention was drawn back to Rogue as they felt her grip loosen on their hands and her wings relaxed, almost curling to rest their extreme weight on Bobby and Gambit's back and shoulders.

Rogue's legs wobbled and they both clutched her hips to help lower her to the floor. Her eyes were wide and she was gasping to catch her breath. Slowly her breathing began to grow more normal. The weight of the wings sagged to the floor at their tips. 

Rogue looked up suddenly, like she had an idea. Logan's healing factor was in overdrive inside her and she wasn't going to waste it. She looked to Gambit in excitement and fear before she scrunched her brow in concentration. Neither Gambit nor Bobby realized what she was doing until, along their backs, they felt the wings sliding inward toward their bases at Rogue's shoulder blades. They were melting inside her. It was their birth in reverse.

Gambit pivoted in front of her and pulled her against him, into his lap. She held tight to him, careful to keep her bare skin from connecting with his face or the few bare fingers not covered by his gloves. She let go of both of their hands and clung to Gambit. Bobby sat to her side, watching helplessly. Logan was stirring awake behind Gambit. Jean, Emma and Xavier still held their head, but weren't so pained. Rogue buried her head into Gambit's chest as the wings made their much slower journey out of existence.

"Shit. Shit. Shit. Shit. Jesus! Shit. Shit. Shit." Rogue whimper-cursed heavily against Gambit's unmoving chest as he held his breath and clutched her to him. Gambit held his breath and watched the death of the wings. It seemed to be in slow motion it took so long. 

**__**

"Fuck. Fuck. Fuck." The entity cursed even more roughly than Rogue did. She also broadcasted it to everyone in the mansion.

"Hank!" Bobby called, worried because the removal of the wings was taking so much longer than their birth had. It also seemed even more painful and Bobby didn't think anything could've looked more painful than their birth had.

Hank obviously activated the intercom, because the scrambling of those in the booth echoed in the eerily quiet Danger Room as did Hank's repeated, "Stars and Garters!" However, when Bobby looked up to the booth, he saw that Hank and Sage's attention were strictly on the monitors and not on Rogue on the Danger Room floor.

Gambit stopped watching the wings dissolve when Rogue sagged against him completely. He hurriedly checked to make sure she hadn't passed out from the pain. He was surprised to see a serene look on her face. Gambit used a gloved finger to raise her head to face him. She met his eyes and whispered happily, "It stopped hurting." Then she closed her eyes and slumped against him.

"Hank!" Gambit screamed as loud as he could. 

At the same time as Gambit's distressed holler the Danger Room doors opened and in two's and three's most of the other X-men entered. They were struck surprised in different ways as they surveyed the room. They had all been alerted there by the Entity's broadcasted curses but didn't know what they'd be arriving to see. Cyclops went immediately to his wife, Jean. The others moved to Emma, Logan, and Rogue in no significant order or manner. They just moved to check on the well being of their teammates. Logan came fully awake, brushing the concerned teammates off him as he made his way to Rogue's still form. The remaining foot long span of the wings slurped away in a final sudden rush. And Rogue jerked her head up.

"That was really loud, Remy." She said with annoyance as she cupped her ears.

Gambit stared at her in perfect stunned relief for a long moment. Then he suddenly grasped her to his chest, holding her to him as though it were a promise to never let her leave his embrace again.

Rogue released a quiet giggle against him as she embraced him back. "Ah love ya, too, Remy."

Gambit stroked her hair and back with his gloved fingers and whispered to her in a voice a little hoarse with emotion and the strength of his calling out for Hank just a moment before. "Merde! Remy t'ought he lost y' for a moment dere." He pushed her back from him by her shoulders just enough to make comfortable eye contact with her. With all seriousness, he said, "Don't y' ever do dat to me again, mon couer. Ever."

"Trust meh, Remy. Ah ain't nevah letting those things loose again." She twisted to look at Warren who had joined them when he saw the wings disappear. "No, offense, Warren," she said with a small laugh.

Warren eyed her with a new respect and replied in good humor, "None, taken, Rogue. None taken."

"Everyone okay down there?" Hank asked over the intercom.

"'Bout friggin' time," Logan grumbled as he stood watch over Rogue between Bobby and Gambit.

"Tell me about it," Bobby said. "I never thought I'd ever see Hank more concerned about research than the immediate health of someone. It better have been good."

Gambit ignored the others. Nothing could drag his attention from Rogue's welfare. Not even the pestering Entity could deflect his concern. He hadn't even taken notice of how quiet the Entity had been since she ceased her curses at just about the same time that Rogue had slumped against him.

"What y' say, chere, y' okay?" Gambit asked.

"Ah'm okay," Rogue said steadily. In fact, she hadn't felt so good for a long time. Everything about her felt more right, more normal than she could ever remember feeling. She didn't show her enthusiasm for it though, because she feared that Gambit and the others might take it the wrong way and become even more worried, even more fussy.

"Logan, Jean, Emma?" Hank asked after hearing of Rogue's welfare. Logan and Jean answered in the affirmative, Emma on the other hand, did not.

"What the fuck was that?" Emma demanded as she stormed toward Rogue.

All in one graceful, controlled motion, Bobby stood, iced over, and froze Emma's feet in place. It happened so suddenly, Emma almost fell forward on her face with the abrupt stop of her movement. She opened her mouth to make another bitchy demand when Logan stepped up beside Bobby and popped his claws with the familiar, Skint! He was joined by the appearance of Nightcrawler following his accustomed Bamf and accompanying smell of brimstone.

"I would not advise it, Liebchin," Kurt warned as he stood protectively between Emma and his foster sister.

"Everyone settle down!" Scott commanded. All eyes turned to him, except for Gambit and Rogue. They never took their eyes off each other. Scott made his way over to Rogue with Jean, who was apparently fine, at his side. "How are you, Rogue?" He asked when he reached them.

Rogue finally looked away from Gambit. "Ah'm okay," she said. When everyone frowned, disbelieving her, she added, "Really. Ah want to do this one last test and call it a day."

"Non, Rogue," Gambit said, turning her back to him. "Gambit was wrong. Dat's it fot today."

"Remy," Rogue said, placating him, "Ah know you're worried 'bout me. But Ah gotta do this last test. Ah want to fix what ever is wrong with me. Ah have ta."

Gambit nodded just as Hank piped in over the intercom, "It's three tests, now, I'm afraid, Rogue."

Everyone looked up to the booth as Hank explained, "There's two more column's now."

**__**

"Ah've gained familiar company," The entity broadcasted to everyone.

Confused looks abounded. Hank answered their silent questioning looks with, "That is what we suspected. But that only accounts for one of the columns." He waited as all eyes turned up to him in the Observation Booth. "Rogue has also gained another person's powers." He stammered slightly over the next part. "Absorbed another mutant without skin to skin contact." The room exploded into exclamations.

Xavier broke up the bickering and confusion. When they all quieted down, he said, "And to answer your colorful question, Emma, we believe it was you she absorbed."

Emma crossed her arms across her chest and stabbed an accusatory, self-righteous glare at Rogue.

Rogue moved away from Gambit's embrace then and stood. Gambit followed, staying protectively close to her as Rogue faced Emma who was still frozen in place even though the ice was beginning to melt around her feet.

"Sorry if Ah offended ya, Sugar," Rogue said flippantly, "but for what it's worth, Ah didn't know Ah was doing it and Ah certainly couldn't stop it."

"But how?" Scott asked.

"Don't rightly know, Cyke." Rogue said pointedly. "Ah felt it happen. It was the smoothest absorption Ah've evar felt." 

Rogue turned to Emma and said, "Ah hardly got any of your mind, Emma. Ah felt it start and Ah got scared and all Ah could think was, 'not your mind, not your mind.' It repeated over and over again. It was usually worse when Ah absorbed more than one at a time, but when Ah kept repeating that, Ah felt the draining of your mind slowing down. Gawd, it almost felt like Ah had a little bit of control. Small as it was." 

Rogue sighed and turned to Gambit. "It was when I sagged against ya, Remy. For those few moments it all seemed so easy."

"How y' feeling now, chere?" Gambit asked. His concern hadn't lessened one bit with her news. It hadn't necessarily grown either. It just changed. There was more to deal with now, but her words and tone of voice also were telling him that what she felt had given her a renewed hope for gaining control of her powers. Even if the changes were harming her in the process, he couldn't help but be excited that she had not given up hope. Despite everything that had happened recently—the implications of her previous sexual abuse and the rest—a large part of him held her uncontrollable powers as the greatest villain to their relationship. And their relationship came second to only one thing, her welfare.

"The control's gone," Rogue said sadly, though still with that tinge of hope to it. "Ah think it was just a side effect of the second piece's release." 

She looked up to Gambit and her eyes shined brilliantly with the full weight of her hope. Gambit's heart leapt to his throat with that look. It thudded madly and nearly choked him he was so excited by her expression. He could barely focus on her accompanying words under the radiance of that look. But he heard her say, "Ah think she was tellin' the truth all along. Ah think this Union thing she keeps rambling on about will be good for me. Ah think all ma control's locked in there with all those buried memories."

Remy wanted to kiss her so badly in that moment, he nearly did kiss her. But he caught himself, he stopped the pull of the catch by the pestering Entity, and he hugged her enthusiastically instead. Rogue gave a burst of laughter with his embrace. They received a few confused looks from all the X-Men present, even more looks of excitement and relief for them, and more than a few chuckles at the silly, childlike grin that was plastered on Remy's face as he held her.

Xavier and the others allowed Rogue and Gambit their moment, albeit not privately. But then Xavier had to interrupt it. He announced from the Observation Booth, "I'm sure we would all like to finish this up, so we should proceed with these last few tests." 

He didn't have to add the concern, 'And pray that nothing else pops up.' Everyone was thinking it loudly enough for him to know it needn't be said.

Rogue and Gambit reluctantly released each other. The excess team members exited the Danger Room and returned to their previous tasks. Cyclops and Nightcrawler were the only two people that had responded to the Entity's broadcast of pain that remained. They joined Xavier and the others in the booth to observe. Both of their concern had been piqued for both Jean and Rogue respectively, and they were too distracted by their concern to return to their previous tasks.

"Ready when you are," Hank called down over the intercom. To the relief for all those present, the tests of Emma's telepathy and shifting to diamond form went very smoothly. The test of the first Entity was a little more difficult as they had to figure out how to test her. Hank wanted to test her use of Rogue's powers both with and without the collar on, but knew he couldn't convince Rogue nor her four protectors—Gambit, Bobby, Wolverine, and Kurt—to go for that. A short discussion ensued reminding them that they had readings of the first entity's accessing Psylocke's, Logan's, and Gambit's abilities from earlier. More than one of Rogue's protectors insisted that that information would have to be enough for Hank on those aspects. That's when Gambit pointed out that what they really needed information on was the catch. That got everyone's attention. Even Rogue was surprised by the term.

"It be what She call it…" Gambit said a little sheepishly at first. He became more assured as he continued. "She never said it directly, but de more she used it on me, de more I noticed it. She's caught on to me, t'ough, and can shield it better now."

"What're ya talking about, Remy?" Rogue asked.

"I t'ink she's been manipulating me since I woke up in de medlab just before y' first episode."

"That's a lame excuse for your recent behavior, Gambit," Bobby said with obvious disbelief.

"Oui, Bobby," Gambit admitted with complete steadfast surety. "But it not be an excuse. Remy takes full responsibility for everyt'ing he's done [2]. It don't change dat it's still true… dat it happened. Hank even has evidence of it. She did it at least twice dat I picked up on since we came in here."

"Will she comply with this test, Rogue?" Hank asked.

"Don't know," Rogue answered, kicking herself for the number of times she'd said that exact phrase since Hank started his evaluations. She turned to Jean and said, "Ah can ask her, if ya want."

"Let me," Jean said as she stepped closer to Rogue. In the Observation Booth, Cyclops stiffened, but didn't object. "It'll let me keep with my promise to help her."

Rogue nodded as she remembered Jean's conversation with the entity when Jean and Emma had helped free her from being bound within her own mindscape. The thought made her shiver. Gambit, suave gentleman that he was, immediately took off his trench coat and offered it to Rogue with his trademark inviting, charming, jump-start-your-arousal grin, and a knowing wink. Rogue, uncomfortable with all her bare skin, especially after everything that had occurred that day so far, took it graciously. He helped her put it on, then held her protectively and comfortingly by her upper arms as Jean stepped in front of Rogue and the others stepped back to give them room.

Jean was able to merely connect telepathically with the first Entity without having to enter the astral plane and Rogue's mindscape there.

**__**

"Ah know what ya'll want." 

__

"And what do you think about it? Will you do it?" Jean asked her.

**__**

"Will it help Rogue have Union?" She simply asked.

__

"I won't lie to you. If the readings Hank gets indicates that you are causing Rogue harm, he will not advise it. And Rogue may not react positively to that."

**__**

"And if his readings show that we're helping Rogue, it'll help her come ta terms with it. Is that how it goes."

__

"That's what we expect, yes."

**__**

"Then Ah'll do it."

__

"Okay. Just follow Hank's directions."

**__**

"On one condition…"

Jean sighed mentally then said, _"What is it?"_

**__**

"Ya'll stop referring ta meh as the Entity. It's kinda insultin'. 'Sides, there's two of us loose now, and there's gonna be a lot more."

__

"Well, what's your name?"

**__**

"Rogue, of course." And thought to herself,**_ Duh! _**Then continued to Jean,**_ "We're all Rogue. We're not like the ghosts of those she's absorbed. We are her, just severed bits of her."_**

__

"What would you like to be called, then? Is there a name you'd prefer?"

**__**

"Ah don't want ta be anyone else. Ah like bein' Rogue. Ummm… Ah got it. Ya'll can call meh Eleven. That's how old Ah was when Ah was trapped in the Core. Ah don't think there'll be any duplicates if ya refer to us in those terms." [3]

__

"That's an agreeable term. Eleven it is."

Jean looked to Rogue and nodded. Then she turned up to the Observation Booth and said, "Ready to go, Hank. She's listening. Oh, and she wants to be called, Eleven." Several confused glances were the response given her. "I'll explain later," she told them.

Hank gave his instructions and watched his monitors for the impending flurry of readings. Via telepathy, Eleven explained to everyone present exactly what she was going to do. They chose an obvious, yet not too painful example for Hank to monitor. Rogue faced Gambit as the Eleven repeated her actions—if not content—of what she had done to Gambit just the night before. She drew on Logan's powers this time. Like with Jean's ghost within Rogue's mindscape on the previous night, Eleven imbued herself in Logan's ghost's chord that was attached to the web containing Rogue's supposed absorption power basis in the corner of Rogue's mind. Like the night before, she coated the chord, surrounded it, embodied it, and she felt it quiver. And she shimmered in return. She gained control of Logan's powers.

Then, from there, she spread her cloud form to encompass the catch that was latched onto Gambit. Once both were activated and under her complete control, she moved onto step two. She used the Logan's chord to pop the claws in Rogue's hands, Skint! Rogue winced slightly, as usual, although for a shorter length of time and with much less intensity. The pain of the claws was nothing compared to manifesting and recalling Warren's wings. She then bounced the experience of it across Gambit's catch. 

A vision, like the night before, hit him, smacked the inside of his skull and bounced around as it flared against the back of his eyes. It consumed his vision, his sense of touch and pain, and he heard the familiar Skint as if it was actually happened to him. But Eleven couldn't go without some form of torment of Gambit since he'd been even more successful at fighting her manipulations of him. She drew the vision out, played it in slow motion for him. She also made him experience it as if it happened to him.

****

FLASH! A small itching, tingling—almost infintesimal in its beginnings—attacking the back of his hands, accompanied the image of six bone points—three on each hand—as they inched their way ever so slowly towards the skin just between his knuckles on each hand. The tingling, itching grew in sync with the inching motion of the claws themselves. When they pinched the skin between his knuckles, the itching, tingling became a searing pain as the claws tore their way ever so slowly through the delicate skin there. The pain continued as the claws inched their way to full extension. FLASH!

Gambit stifled his reaction to just a grunt, though his concentration and his pain was plainly etched on his face. He held his shaking hands, palm down, out in front of him. He stared at them, as the vision had been twisted to be seen as though it was actually happening to him.

****

FLASH! The claws spring back in, compounding the retracting pain of it with the enhanced velocity of it in contrast to the excruciatingly slow release of them. FLASH!

Gambit's hand slap back against him, jolting him back a step with the intensity of the envisioned retraction of the claws. 

****

Giggle.

Gambit gasped and tried to catch his breath. 

"_That was just cruel,_" Rogue thought to Eleven as she went to Gambit.

Rogue clutched the extra long sleeves of Gambit's trench coat in the palms of her hands and caught hold of the sides of his face. She held his gaze as his breathing regulated. "How ya doing, Remy?" Rogue asked with care. 

Gambit nodded over and over again, getting over the shock of the vision. Rogue, in response, wrapped her arms around him and stroked circles on his back, murmuring to him, "It's over now, Remy. It's all over. It wasn't real, okay? It wasn't real…" 

When he calmed down, she pulled back and held his gaze again. She asked, "Do you want to stop?" He shook his head, so she asked, "Can you go through it again?" He was still for a long time, but then he finally nodded his assent. She stood on tip-toes, bent his head lower so that his bangs protected his brow, and she planted a slow, soothing kiss there. 

She turned her attention to Jean and said, "Your turn, Sugar."

Jean tried surface telepathic communication with the second Entity like she had done with Eleven.

**__**

"She won't answer to Entity," Eleven stated with mock helpfulness.

__

"What should I call her?_"_

**__**

"Eighteen… No, nineteen? No, eighteen… Nineteen, definitely nineteen. Ah think." [4]

Jean tried the surface telepathy a second time, calling out the designated name of Nineteen. Finally, she got a response—a creepy one—but a response nonetheless.

**__**

"Step into my parlor, said the spider ta the fly," Came Nineteen's cryptic invitation for Jean to enter into Rogue's mindscape. Her voice wasn't as bright or tinny as Eleven's was. The quality of Eleven's voice was what had Rogue calling her the Shimmering Voice. Nineteen's voice was much deeper, thick and sprawling like the muddy, debris filled waters of the Mississippi when it flooded after extreme rainfall. It was throaty, with just a hint of rasp, giving Nineteen's voice a sadistic and yet tantalizing quality. 

Chicory. Her voice was like chicory.

Jean looked a question to Rogue, who had been privy to the exchange. Rogue answered with a shrug as she said, "That's the first Ah've heard from her myself, Jean. Ah don't know what to tell you. It's up to you."

Jean nodded, and without hesitation, took up Nineteen's invitation. Emma backed her up and waited outside the web fencing on the outskirts of Rogue's mindscape. She took the role that the five had performed the last time Jean entered Rogue's mindscape. Xavier monitored from outside. His previous experience revealed that his presence was not welcome in a profound extremity. So Jean had Emma alone to stand guard as Jean inched up to the fence.

"Nineteen?" Jean called out. 

**__**

Laughter. Haunting, taunting laughter answered Jean. 

Several strands snaked out from the endless expanse that spread out from the inside of the fence. Lightning quick, they snatched Jean and spirited her deep within Rogue's mindscape. To Jean it was as though the strands encoiled her, then she felt motion, then she stopped, and just appeared, as if teleported, in the middle of a vast, dense cherry tree orchard. 

Jean surveyed her locale. The cherry trees reached for miles and miles in every direction. Hundreds of mostly under-ripe cherries dangled precariously from the fragile twigs that tipped and edged the sturdy branches. The ground was blanketed with thick layers of cherry blossoms. More cherry blossoms floated in whispers from the trees, adding to the blanket on the ground and a rosy tint to the most immediate atmosphere. The flurries, the soft and soundless carpet of petals, the trees—all of it was deceptively serene. A cold edged the locale as a murky blackness pressed against the tops of the trees sliced here and there by strands of the webbing. It felt like perpetual winter, perpetual night, and perpetual suffocation. This was hell disguised as heaven as an added torment.

The reference of all the cherries was not lost on Jean. She understood the significance there quite clearly.

"Nineteen?" Jean asked with much less confidence. 

"**_Right here,_**" stated Nineteen's chicory voice laced with that haunting, taunting laughter to it. 

Jean caught sight of figures just on the left side of her peripheral vision and turned so that she could look at Nineteen straight on. But Nineteen never did appear straight on. Nineteen always stayed on the left side of Jean's peripheral vision.

****

Laughter. Haunting, taunting laughter deadened in the torpid atmosphere of the orchard. **_ "Ah am a stolen thing, Jeannie dear,"_** Nineteen's chicory voice said**_. _**"**_No one will ever really see me—Ever—Ever—Again._**" 

"…watching us wither, black winged roses that safely change their color. I can't reach you. I can't reach you. Give me life, give me pain, give me myself again. Give me life, give me pain, give me my life again…" (Little Earthquakes –by Tori Amos)

Jean finally stopped turning, trying to get Nineteen completely in her view. She stood still and looked out the corner of her eye. She got as detailed a view of Nineteen as she could get. Unlike Eleven, Nineteen had a much more human definition of herself. She had Rogue's appearance at about that age. Her body was tall, thin and wiry, yet curvaceous in all the right ways. Everything about her body structure screamed that she was just exiting puberty and brimming on womanhood. She wore her hair similar to Rogue's at that time. It was a punk sort of style that was spiked on both sides of her head so that the white stripe edged both interiors of the spikes. The effect was both enticing and repelling all at once. It strangely stated a rebellious nature toppling a buried yearning for conformity, for acceptance. She wore Rogue's dress of that time as well. An inky black body suit was topped by another spring-leaves green leotard. This over top leotard was French bikini cut, arcing over her hips almost all the way to her ribs. It was strapless. The front came to two points above her breasts and the back dipped almost to the small of her back. She hands were covered with opera length gloves that came to a point on the silhouette edge of her arms. Her stiletto-heeled boots reached more than midway up her thighs and also came to a point front and center. Both the gloves and the boots were the same spring-green color as the over-top-leotard.

Her demeanor was cocky, indignant, and fiercely independent.

More than seen, Nineteen's image was sensed, sort of like the memory of a lost and forgotten thing from long ago. It was fuzzy, with several lines detailing the silhouetted edge of her form. It was like a 3-D picture when viewed without the 3-D glasses. It was an exacting cut of her in triplicate. Each version layered the next, overlapping with the briefest of misalignment. It made her seem more vivid than life itself, like the 3-D picture when viewed with the 3-D glasses. This extra vividness only made it more tempting to catch true sight of her. But she stayed always out of reach, always gone. Always stolen.

**__**

"These were my thieves," Nineteen declared almost with pride.

Tethered from her wrists, ankles, and neck by withered rose stems that were long and sinuous like thin, scraggly vines were five male figures. The thorned stems coiled around their arms, torso, and legs. Instead of hair the top and back of their heads were covered in dead black roses. But they really didn't have the true appearance of hair. It was more like their heads were flower pots in which the dead black roses floated in a dark, syrupy fluid. Blood? The fluid dibbled in sparse lines down the sides and front of their faces. Their faces were even less determinable than anything else. There was nothing identifiable about them, nothing to indicate them as individuals. Jean couldn't even pinpoint what it was about them that made her think they were even men.

**__**

"But now they're my prisoners... my possessions... my playthings." 

Nineteen's body made a snapping straight movement, though her posture and position never really changed. The movement triggered a tightening of the stems that coiled the five men. Jean heard the eerie straining, twisting tension creep through the stems more than she actually saw them tighten. It reminded her of the sound of a rope bridge creaking as it rocked in the faint wind. Tiny rivulets of the same black, syrupy fluid that dribbled down their faces escaped their freshly thorn-pierced skin. 

"I take it your not very fond of Gambit, then?" Jean asked Nineteen.

Nineteen sneered and hissed, **_"Sssscroundrelllllll..."_**

"Doesn't seem like Gambit and Rogue will have much of a chance if Union happens," Jean said.

"**_Don't Ah wish,_**" Nineteen said as her sneer became a frown. **_"But many still favor him. And Rogue thinks highest of him and she is really the most predominant of us all."_**

"But if you had your way…?" Jean asked.

A venomous grin slithered across her lips. "**_If Ah had my way, Ah'd have a sixth pet._**"

"Who are they?" Jean asked.

Nineteen gave a bark of that haunting, taunting laughter then, in her chicory voice, sing-songed, "**_Jean-Jean, Jean-Jean-Jean... Are ya hear to play psi-witch or did ya have an actual purpose for disturbing my moving in... out... in._**" She sighed and it barely passed her lips before the torpid atmosphere of the cherry tree orchard smothered it. "**_Which ever you'd prefer, really. It doesn't matter much ta me either way. But ya can only have one._**" 

Jean furrowed her brow in annoyance, but it made it even more difficult to see Nineteen out of the corner of her eye so she relaxed her expression as best as her annoyance would allow. Jean had never really known Rogue in this stage of her life. Jean had been with X-Factor with Scott and Bobby and some of the others during this phase of the X-Men. She hoped Rogue wasn't like this then. She doubted she would've liked her much if she had been. She definitely wasn't much fonder of Nineteen than Nineteen was of her pets or Gambit. 

Jean gave her answer through gritted teeth. It was a request really. "Will you participate in the test?"

"**_Yes,_**" came the chicory voice. "**_Now wasn't that easy?_**""

Jean didn't bother to respond. She just left. She couldn't get away from Nineteen fast enough.

"She's called Nineteen." Jean spat out the words to Hank and the others as though they tasted foul. "And she's agreed to repeat Eleven's display."

Rogue and Gambit were holding hands. Rogue gave his hand a squeeze before speaking, "Ya ready, Remy."

"No, Rogue," Jean jumped in. Rogue and Gambit both gave her questioning expressions, which Jean answered with, "I thought you'd heard, like you did with Eleven."

"Didn't hear a thing, Sugar," Rogue stated simply.

"She really doesn't like Remy," Jean said, her obvious distaste for Nineteen was obvious in her words. 

**__**

"And Genoshan slave collars. Can't forget those."

"It could be dangerous for him," Jean added, ignoring Nineteen's interruption though not her comment.

**__**

"No." Nineteen was broadcasting it to everyone in the Danger Room and the Observation Booth as well. **_"It's the swamp rat or not at all. He's my one condition."_**

"Your condition?" Rogue asked it with an unusual haughtiness to her usual molasses voice.

**__**

"Eleven wanted ya'll ta stop calling her The Entity or The First Entity. That was her condition."

"And we stopped calling you The Second Entity," Jean countered.

**__**

"No, ya'll referred ta me as The Second Entity. Eleven told ya ta call me Nineteen, not me. Though Ah do appreciate it, it ain't my condition."

"I'll do it," Gambit piped in before the bickering could continue.

Rogue dropped his hands and grasped his clothed shoulders. "No, Remy. Ah won't let her hurt ya."

Nineteen gave a mental pout. There was nothing cutely petulant about it. It was venomous. It sent shivers up Rogue's spine. Gambit felt Rogue's shiver and became wary of going through with it for the first time.

**__**

"Ah promise not ta mortally wound him or permanently damage him." It came out as an annoyed whine.

"You'll do exactly as Eleven did," Jean asked cautiously.

**__**

"Ah'll do what Eleven did. Ah'll bounce Logan's accessed power across Gambit's catch."

Jean looked to Rogue, who looked to Gambit.

"It be de only way de femme will do it. And Hank needs de results in order to figure dis out, n'est-ce pas?" He waited until Rogue nodded before he continued, "Den I don't see no way out of it without skipping it completely." He narrowed his eyes on her, but kept them soft, placating. "And y' need dis. I'll do it for y', chere. Non problem."

Rogue bit her lip as she decided. Finally, she closed her eyes and gave one curt nod.

Nineteen kept her word… sort of. She accessed Logan's powers within Rogue by crushing a handful of cherries in her clenched fist and letting the juice coat the chord linking his ghost. It sprouted withered, thorned stems that tethered themselves to Nineteen. Then she activated Gambit's catch with a mere whisper of her chicory voice. She prompted the popping of Logan's claws in Rogue and bounced an echo of it along Gambit's catch.

That's where Nineteen differed from Eleven. She didn't just send Gambit a vision of Logan's claws popping. 

SKINT!

She gave him the real thing. Gambit yelped in pain and surprise when the bone claws sprang from his hands. Blood splattered Gambit's trench coat that Rogue was wearing, Rogue's barely-there clothing, and her bared stomach from the force of the sprung claws. More blood seeped out of the raw wounds on Gambit's hands as Nineteen kept them popped out.

"What the?!" Logan exclaimed. Everyone else present responded in much the same manner.

**__**

Laughter. Haunting, taunting.

Rogue stared at him wide-eyed and clutched his covered wrists to comfort him and keep him from hurting himself or anyone else with the claws. "Ya got it, Hank?" Rogue called out frantically. 

"Yes," came Hank's curt and shocked reply over the intercom.

**__**

"Yoah in trouble," Eleven sing-songed. **Giggle.** **_"Glad it's not meh."_**

"Get rid of them, Nineteen!" Rogue demanded with an authority nobody ever expected from her. "NOW!" 

So focused on Gambit was she that she didn't even realize she said it out loud. It didn't matter, though. Nineteen heard her loud and clear. She did as Rogue commanded, sweetening the make-up effort by accessing Logan's chord again and bouncing an echo of his healing factor over Gambit's catch.

Rogue and Gambit watched the claws retract and disappear from Gambit entirely. They watched the wounds knit themselves and heal over to reveal new pink skin. 

Gambit looked at Logan with new-found respect. "How do y' do it, Logan?"

Logan just shrugged. "Never had much of a choice, really."

Gambit turned the question to Rogue. All she needed was his expression. She didn't wait for his words before she answered, "It doesn't hurt as bad as all that for me. Invulnerability dampens it, ya know."

"But de wing's were so much worse, chere. How?" He asked her.

"Ah lived, didn't Ah? Ah just remind myself that it would've been worse if Ah wasn't invulnerable or didn't have the healing factor. Ah just deal, Ah guess." Rogue shrugged. "Like Wolvie."

****

~~~~~~~~~~~

"You say you'll give me a highway with no one on it, treasure just to look upon it, all the riches in the night. You say you'll give me eyes on a moon of blindness, a river in a time of dryness, a harbour in the tempest… You say you want your love to work out right, to last with me through the night. You say you want a diamond on a ring of gold, your story to remain untold, your love not to grow cold. All the promises we break from the cradle to the grave, when all I want is you…" (All I Want is You –by U2 off the Reality Bites soundtrack)

"…all she wants is control, but—" Hank severs his words to Xavier as the med lab doors open and Sage walked in. 

She stalked straight to them and said, "Can the crap. Lose the secrets. I've figured most of it out already." 

They stare at Sage, stunned, as she pushes between them and types commands into the console. Rogue's files flip open, one after another after another after another. The readings from the day's tests finally open. Sage zeroes in on the column that was oddly more active than all the others. She types in some more commands and the column splits apart into dozens and dozens of separate columns. It was just like when Hank had separated Logan's power column within Rogue's readings. Each new column represented a different ability. And the oddly overactive column had many, many columns within it.

Hank and Xavier watched her in a mixture of awe, surprise and guilt. They'd been caught.

She resized the screen showing the newly separated strains within the overactive column until it only covered half the screen, but fit all the myriad of columns side by side widthwise. She then reopened the screen she retrieved the data of the overactive column from, and resized that screen to cover the top half of the screen yet still fill all the myriad of columns side by side widthwise. She typed more commands so that the matching columns from both screens lined up on top of each other for a more obvious comparison. When she was satisfied with the display, she turned and clinical, yet accusingly derisive glare on Xavier.

"This is the Core. It's a complete duplicate of all of Rogue's powers. And more." She indicates the differing columns on each screen as she mentions them. She continues to bombard them with her revelations, making sure to give neither the opportunity to make false denials. "The Core is missing Eleven and Nineteen's columns because they have broken off from the Core. But still they are encoded within the remaining columns in the Core. They cannot be completely severed from the Core because they are, as they claimed, part of Rogue. These extra columns are the other pieces that have yet to break from the Core. This column, and it's coding within every other column—ON BOTH SCREENS—is something altogether different. Probably something Rogue's never exhibited before. That part I'm not sure of. But it formed inside the Core when Rogue's mutation completely manifested. Rogue has never had access to it. And the Core has complete control of it. But the most surprising thing—" Sage stepped back and gave them both a vicious sneer "—is that you've known this all along."

Hank was the most obviously taken aback by Sage's accusation. He stammered, "The Core… We knew about the blocked memories. It's the main reason that she is so impenetrable by telepaths without her leading them inside. We really did think it was from the Kree genes at first. Then Magneto removed Carol from her, and still Rogue was impenetrable. So, yes, we had an idea. We were aware of the Core. But what was in it? That, we didn't know. We had suspicions, yes, but never anything concrete, and surely nothing this extensive."

Sage smiled at Hank. "You, maybe, probably, only knew that much."

"That's all I knew. I would never keep such a thing from Rogue. This could help give her control."

"If it didn't kill her and—" 

"Stuff it, Xavier. You had your suspicions of her having more powers. You've played her from the moment she got here. You've dangled your promise to help her control her powers over her head this whole time."

"I've never forced her to be here," Xavier replied calmly, confidently. "She, like all the other X-men are welcome to come and go as they please."

"True. But you still didn't pursue this control issue as you promised. Why? The answers are all here, Xavier. So, why not help her gain control?"

Xavier took a deep breath and shook his head. His surety, his confidence in his beliefs never wavered. He looked back up to Sage with an even, nonthreatening gaze. "Because of what likely initiated the creation of the Core, I fear that she may not be capable of control. And I will not release whatever is in there without some assurance that she can control it."

"Professor, you really believe that?" Hank asked.

"It is a reasonable belief, all things considered." Xavier looked pointedly from Hank to Sage. "Do you realize what type of power is likely contained in there?"

Sage sank onto a nearby chair. "I figured as much."

"Oh my Stars and Garters!" Hank's face lit up with the realization. "You mean—"

"Yes, Hank. Exactly."

****

~~~~~~~~~~~

"She was a January girl. She never let on how insane it was in that house by the woods, by the woods, by the woods. Black-dove, black-dove, you're not a helicopter. You're not a cop out either. Black-dove, black-dove, you don't need a space ship. They don't know you've already lived on the other side of the galaxy. She had a January world. So many storms not right somehow, how a lion becomes a mouse, by the woods…" (Black-Dove –by Tori Amos)

Rogue hovered upwind of Gambit for a long while before she approached him. She enjoyed just watching him. It pained her that so much of his brooding was all because of her, but it thrilled her that so much of his joy was also because of her. But, this night it was not just to watch him that she watched him. She was delaying the inevitable, the terrifying, the necessary. She was delaying their talk.

She had been so eager to open up to him earlier that day. Thinking back to that moment between the end of the debrief and beginning of the tests, she remembered thinking that nothing could lessen her enthusiasm about their talk. Of course, she never would have imagined the day they would have either.

"Ah figured out who they are," Rogue said as she settled down beside him on the mansion's roof, knees drawn up to her chest. She used her power of flight, the one she'd had the longest, the one from Carol, to lower herself silently, directly into her sitting position.

"Who?" Gambit asked without turning towards her. His ruby on onyx eyes sparkled in the moonlight.

"Eleven is the me that absorbed Cody. It's why she's so stuck on Bobby being like Cody. It's why Ah only remembered that kiss with such vagueness. Why Ah remember most of my kisses so vaguely. They're tied up with other things. The good got hidden away with the bad. It's also why Ah've remembered it so clearly since she's been loose."

"How long?" 

Rogue sighed. "A while. It's probably why Ah let myself get so close to Bobby. And honestly, Gambit, Ah'm glad it happened. Ah really needed him. He really is a lot like how Ah always imagined Cody would've grown up to become."

"And Nineteen?"

"She's harder to talk about," Rogue said wearily.

"I understand," Gambit said, lowering his head in anticipation of her closing off to him again.

"No, that's not what Ah mean," Rogue said, realizing what he was thinking. She didn't even need to use her telepathy. It was enough of a repeat performance between them that it was more than obvious what he thought she was doing… again.

He turned to her then. "Really?" He asked her with his penetrating, knee-weakening gaze. She caught her breath with the intensity of it.

"Ah've never told anyone about what happened before. It kinda got locked up as well. Ah really thought it was less than it was. Ah don't know, maybe even Carol really thought so, too."

Gambit eyes flickered wide with surprise then softened just as quickly. He didn't want to scare her off with his reactions. But, still he knew what was coming, the general gist of it anyway, and he needed to hear it from her, she needed to tell it.

"It still hasn't all come back yet. The details will come out slowly like it did with Eleven. But Ah know what mostly happened." Rogue lowered her head and took a deep steadying breath.

__

Ah can do this… He won't scare off… Ah can do this…

He wanted to reach out and touch her, brush her cheek, stroke her arm, something, anything. Just to urge her on. Just to comfort her. But he did nothing. He didn't want to shatter the fragile moment.

"There were five of them… Magistrates… Prison guards. No, perverted bullies…" The sobs started in, then. "And Ah didn't have my powers (sob) 'cause o' that damned collar (sob) one right after the other (sob) they didn't even have to hold me down (sob) most of the time (sob) Ah just laid there (sob) numb (sob) broken."

Gambit did hold Rogue then. He cradled her in his lap. One hand under her knees, one around her back, he rocked her gently, trying to ease her sobs.

"Ah was weak. Ah didn't do any (sob) anything to stop them." 

He rocked her until she quieted. She'd grown so still he had to check to see if she'd fallen asleep. As soon as his eyes met hers, she buried her head into his chest to hide from him.

"They kept laughing." With her words the sobs returned. She couldn't stop them, the guards or her sobs. She punched Remy's shoulder, careful not to hurt him with her strength even though she was really punching against her helplessness. Her helplessness back in Genosha and on the roof right then. "And it hurt, but they kept laughing (sob) like it was some big joke (sob) that it was my first (sob) my first time (sob) ever (sob) that Ah knew (sob) ever (sob)."

Gambit clutched her tighter. His eyes lit with anger and he silently cursed the rotten bastards that had violated her, hurt her, took something that was extra special to her because it was forbidden in so many ways. He'd had his suspicions, most of the X-Men did. He thought he'd prepared himself for hearing this if indeed it were true. Nothing, he realized in those long, drawn out moments, could've prepared him for hearing how his love was brutally raped directly from her own mouth, mind, heart.

What made it worse, was something he'd tried, and failed, to push out of his mind some time ago. This horrible story was the answer to the question that he'd been wondering about since their one time in that cave in Antartica. 

__

Her powers were negated den, too, Remy. Y' damned fool. 

He'd never asked her about it, though. How could he? Who was he to question her history with intimate touch when he had his own, much more sordid, varied, and pleasurable sexual history to conflict with hers? So the untouchable woman wasn't a virgin. What did it matter? Right? 

Lots, apparently. 

Still, he was glad he'd never asked. He was glad he let her confide in him on her own terms. Besides, by her own admission, she didn't remember the worst of it. She didn't remember the rape. 

__

Rapes. Plural, Remy. Merde! Five of dem. One after anot'er. Dieu! Fucking bastards!

"Ah always knew—thought—it'd never happen (sob)." The sobs were still there, but they didn't increase anymore. They lessened with the release of some of the burden that produced them. "But Ah always imagined it. Ah always hoped, even though it wouldn't, couldn't happen for real. (sob) Ah pictured like it was with us (sob)." 

Rogue jerked up and faced him directly. Her expression was panic stricken. "Gawd, Remy. Ah never thanked ya!"

Gambit laughed. He couldn't help himself. It was so absurd that she'd panicked over that. Thanking him for that. THAT. The timing was the most ridiculous part, but… "It should be me thanking y', Rogue. Trust me on dat one." 

Rogue laughed! He rejoined in with her. Their laughter nearly shook Rogue out of Gambit's hold. It wracked them until their stomach's ached, until they were weak and they had to lay back on the roof, in each other's arms, because they didn't have the strength to hold themselves up anymore.

It had been a long time since they had a good laugh together.

****

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

To be continued in Chapter 09 – Foil.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

****

FOOTNOTES:

[1] I'm sure none of you need me to reference this, but I will anyway. The crystal wave ignited the Age of Apocalypse story line. It was preceded immediately by Rogue's fateful first kiss with Gambit, leaving him in a coma and her with his powers, personality, and memories.

[2] Notice how Gambit returned to third person with his admission of continued responsibility for his previous childish behavior? This is a statement of his subconscious denial of it, a self-protective mechanism that even he doesn't pick up on. I just wanted to make sure that was understood. *This chapter explained the childish and out of character actions, etc., of people like Gambit and Logan. It was/is 'Eleven' manipulating them purposefully through the catches.

[3] This, as revealed (and noted a second time as 4) during Rogue's conversation at the end of this chapter, is the age of Rogue when she absorbed Cody, and the first known manifestation of Rogue's mutation. If this was specified to have occurred at different age in complete surety in the comics, then I apologize. For the context of this story, I'm sticking to her being eleven when it happened.

[4] This is another estimation of age on my part that I will just accept as though it was canon for the purposes of this story. If you hadn't figured it out by the cherry orchard reference, and from Nineteen's hatred of thieves and Genoshan slave collars, Nineteen is a very important memory aspect of Rogue. It was her that lost her virginity when she was by Genoshan magistrates raped while she was imprisoned and had her powers stripped from her (for the purposes of my story).

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Missy42 – Thanks for the lyrics to "Upside Down" and "Here. In my Head." They both worked well in this chapter, I think.

****

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~


	9. Chapter 09 Foil

****

A/N: Warning! Strong language, violence, and (non-consensual) sexual situations contained in this chapter.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Seether

Chapter Nine – Foil

By Randirogue

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

**__**

*Fetch!*

Dr. Henry McCoy—Beast—was often afflicted with insomnia because that brilliant brain of his just would not shut up. It was a common enough occurrence. That night, after he'd administered the battery of tests on Rogue, was no exception. 

Questions. Questions. Tumble. Toil. Fumble. Foil. Blunder. Blender. Boil.

Blessed slumber was not an option. Finally, he shoved off the blankets and took out his notes and a pen. He wrote. It was the only way to ease the questions, burning, turning, churning in his brain.

What did Essex do to the collars?

Why did Nineteen escape the Core? Why today? Why that moment?

How did Nineteen escape the Core?

Why did Rogue obtain Emma's powers without touching her? Why today? Why that moment?

How did Rogue absorb Emma's powers without touching her?

What did Xavier's proposed tests really solve? 

That question stirred up the memory of when Xavier presented Hank with the list of tests for the danger room. It was right after the meeting in the med lab that morning. After the group had completed their debate over Rogue's current dilemma—and after Logan and Gambit fought—Hank had excused the group, proposing that they reconvene the next day. 

Hank had needed time to work out the tests that they should do. He'd needed time to program the danger room for those tests. He'd needed time to set up the complicated monitoring system so that he could most accurately record the data from those tests. Sure he'd had some ideas already, even some of the danger room sequences programmed, and some ideas about the monitoring programs that would be needed. He had started working on them right after he and Storm had spoken to Rogue about doing tests on her powers right before her first episode, right before Gambit woke up and refused to be sedated anymore. Storm had requested Sage's assistance because Sage had ignited a latent mutant power within Slipstream. So, he would have Sage's help in devising the tests and the monitoring system, and in programming the danger room sequences. But even with Sage's help and the work he'd already done, twenty-four hours was still a very tight estimate of the time that would be necessary to properly prepare for the tests.

Regardless, Hank had given the assembled members the estimation that he would be ready to reconvene the following day. As soon as the med lab had emptied, Xavier presented the list to Hank. Everything they would need was on that list. Every test was listed. Every recall command for every danger room simulation that would be required was there. Every file name for the preprogrammed complex monitoring system that would be used and every file name of Rogue's existing medical records preprogrammed for easy comparison to the data they would acquire during the tests with the complex monitoring system was written in Xavier's own handwriting. EVERYTHING—all of it was on the list. Even accommodations for the Core and for Eleven, though not by name. 

__

At least Xavier didn't know that much, Hank thought. 

The only other thing that wasn't in extensive detail, was the testing of the collars that Sinister had given Kurt. There were notes for testing that in the danger room, but there wasn't any designated simulations or monitoring files already programmed. Then again, it turned out they didn't even need to add anything to test those things. Wolverine's monitoring as Rogue absorbed him was already encoded with the rest of the list and it was easy enough just to have him test the collar.

"It has to be today," Xavier had said in response to Hank's widened eyes at seeing the list. 

Xavier then pulled the Shiar remote sensors that they would place on Logan and Rogue out from a compartment on his hover chair. Hank took them from Xavier. He raised one curious brow to him, but didn't comment. 

Xavier gave a half-explanation nonetheless, saying, "Necessary participants are needed elsewhere tomorrow."

The tomorrow he was referring to would start after Hank got rid of this insomnia, got some sleep and could awake and begin the more complicated analysis of the data they had received from the danger room tests that day.

There were still a few more questions rolling around in his head so he wrote those down as well. However, these last questions weren't included in Rogue's medical records.

Who is the necessary participant?

What does Xavier have him or her doing? Checked log. No missions are scheduled for tomorrow.

Why the secrecy?

Hank sighed. He put down the pen and gathered his new notes together. He placed the one set of notes in one of Rogue's medical files on his desk in his bedroom. He placed the other set, those for his anxieties surrounding the Professor's secrecy, in his night-stand drawer. He laid back in his bed and closed his eyes. Sleep came much easier now that those questions rested safely on paper where they couldn't be forgotten in the hazy confusion of dreams. 

Giggle.

He forgot to write down the one question that had irked him the most, though. How did Rogue—well, Nineteen—transfer Logan's claws to Gambit?

**__**

"Convenient." Giggle.

****

~~~~~~~~~~~

**__**

"Fetch!"

After the laughing fit ended, the difficult discussion about the events of the previous night was postponed in unspoken assent. Neither wanted to ruin the jovial mood between them. That was a given. But there was more. Remy just couldn't bring himself to complain about her betrayal of him, her cheating on him. He couldn't lob condemnations on her right after she'd confessed the trauma she'd suffered at the hands of the Genoshan Magistrates. It was just rude.

Still, it was something they had to discuss. She had hurt him. Deeply. 

__

Always had plenty of reason to be jealous. Lots of men have loved Rogue over the years. Can't blame dem for it, could y', Remy? Not when y' love de femme y'self. But y' never had to worry about de untouchable Rogue, who flinched every time y' attempted anyt'ing intimate, ever doing DAT to y'… Leave y' for y' secrets, for y' past, for de lingering affections of her former attractions… Remy was always on de look out for t'ings like dat… Merde! Mags always made y' nervous. If he ever gave up dat crusade of his and came to his senses, what would Rogue do? If he ever pursued Rogue, he could give y' a run for y' money, Remy… But Logan and Rogue? Dat? Dieu! Never suspected dat. Not in a million years. Dat one crept right by y'.

The jovial mood had re-energized Rogue. It had made her restless, excited, and hyper. And after the physical, mental, and emotional strains of the day, she wanted to have some fun. She wanted to tear through the open night skies. She wanted to cut, twist, turn, loop, flip, speed through the atmosphere. She wanted to ride a roller coaster of her own design using her own power of flight. And that was fine with Gambit. He wouldn't accompany her though—which disappointed her—but he insisted that she should go on without him, enjoy herself, by herself. He needed her to learn to enjoy who and what she was. If she didn't it wouldn't be likely for any relationship of hers to survive.

He'd watched her soar away as he smoked one last cigarette on the mansion roof. He couldn't talk to Rogue, but he had to talk to someone. Plus, he had other things he wanted to do. Things he had to do without Rogue.

****

Giggle.

****

~~~~~~~~~~~

**__**

"Fetch!"

Jean turned out the light beside the bed with a little push of her telekinesis. She had no sooner closed her eyes…

"I don't want you doing that again," Scott said. It wasn't in his fearless leader voice, but it was commanding and full of trepidation. Jean didn't need to use her telepathy—she didn't even need to feel the flow over the taxed and weakened mind link between them—in order to sense his intent. His concern for her well being was more than evident in his voice alone. He didn't want her to attempt entrant into Rogue's mindscape again.

Jean took a while to answer. Scott almost spoke again, pressed the issue, but he held his tongue and let her gather her thoughts. He could tell she was putting a lot of consideration into her husband's request… no, not request… plea. 

She'd made a promise to Eleven the first time she'd ever been able to enter Rogue's mindscape. It had been the first time—ever—any telepath had gone beyond basic communication with Rogue's mind. It had taken, what, seven telepaths. That was counting the Five Stepford girls as separate people and not including Xavier—who had been outright repelled from Rogue's mind by Rogue's shields, not by Rogue herself. The shields were, ultimately, controlled by the Core. Jean had seen that for herself while she was in Rogue's mindscape the first time. Jean had no misconceptions about how she and Emma had gained entrance. It hadn't been because of anything that was Emma, the Five, or her doing. Like it or not, they had been brought in by the Core… And Eleven herself, perhaps. Jean fully believed that no one telepath, no any combination of telepaths could ever force their way past Rogue's shields and into her mind under any circumstances. If you got in, you were carried in by some part of Rogue herself. End of story.

…But the Shadow King…

And what about the second time Jean got inside, when she spoke to Nineteen in the cherry tree orchard? That still irked Jean. It gave her chills. Jean had no control in there that time, not even control of herself. She didn't let on to that during the tests in the danger room. She wouldn't; she couldn't. How could she? With Xavier not being allowed in, she and Emma were Rogue's only chance at dealing with the mental trauma's of the release of the Core. If Jean had no control, not even of herself, while in Rogue's mind, what did that say for Rogue's chances of surviving Union?

Eleven had been insisting that Union would be for Rogue's own good. She had been adamant about that. It was her ultimate goal, right? By the multitude of times Eleven spoke of that subject, it just had to be. But, Eleven hadn't done a thing to hold Jean to her word about helping Rogue deal with her abuse issues and the onset of Union. Jean knew she was holding back on starting the sessions with Rogue and Eleven. And somehow, she knew that Eleven _knew_ she was holding back. Yet still, Eleven did nothing to push the issue with Jean. Eleven hadn't even tried to influence or affect Jean the way Eleven had with Remy, had she? 

Had she influenced or affected anyone other than Remy?

Jean frowned. Eleven had Jean convinced, utterly convinced that Eleven only wanted to help Rogue, that Eleven had only the best intentions for Rogue when Eleven had issued that dainty plea to Jean for help.

The memory of those moments fanned behind Jean's eyes… 

**__**

"An' stronger too, both of us, if she'd accept meh," Eleven's shimmering voice had said**_. "Will you help her?"_**

"Yes," Jean had said. "But you must be patient. Rushing her and forcing her will only hurt her."

**__**

"Okay," Eleven's shimmering voice had responded just as it dispersed.

__

Cloud form… We never saw Eleven in a humanoid form. She was either nothing or a shimmering cloud. She was never a being, a thing of physical distinction. She was vapor. She was a memory form... always insubstantial. Jean's eyes darkened to match the menacing quality of her thoughts on Eleven.

**__**

"It's up to her now," Eleven had continued. Her shimmering voice had eerily come from everywhere and nowhere all at once when her cloud form wasn't present.

Jean had looked to Rogue. "Rogue, honey, do you want out?" Jean had asked Rogue. Rogue had nodded her head emphatically. It had been just a slight tremble, though, on account of the tight web bindings. "Then do it," Jean had instructed.

Jean and Emma had watched Rogue close her unbound eyes in determined concentration. Slowly, the bindings had loosened and fell away from her. Jean had held out her hand and helped her up. Rogue had opened her eyes and the tension eased in her a little, but the stubborn determination remained apparent.

"Now we clean this place up," Jean had said and nodded to Emma, who moved to Rogue's other side and grasped her hand. Under the combined will of the trio, the webbing had obeyed. The strands had thinned and recoiled back onto the Core. Thousands of strands, miles and miles long, had moved past them and rejoined the Core. After a while the reversion had stopped. Rogue and Jean and Emma had looked around. Jean and Emma had seemed satisfied. The Core's shielding had become dense and intricate, with only a few tiny holes where the overlapping webbing didn't completely seal itself off. Jean had thought that it was good that it didn't. Rogue's childhood, if that was indeed what that was, shouldn't have been completely sealed off. Even the earliest memories of her formative years weren't supposed to be cut off. Nobody's were supposed to be. For some reason that Jean couldn't pinpoint she had believed that it was good that it was shielded so well for the time being. She really hadn't thought that the Core was solely made up of Rogue's early childhood. Whatever else was in there—whatever other aspects of Rogue that Rogue had concealed from herself there, knowingly or otherwise—had been beyond Jean's recognition at the moment. She hadn't concerned herself by it too much, either. Instead, she had allowed herself to be content with the victory they had achieved that day.

"Well, it ain't like it was, but It'll do," Rogue had said.

__

We accepted that it being different was a good sign… an improvement... We glossed over Rogue's trepidation over it. And Rogue took us at our word. She trusted us.

"It seems sturdy enough," Emma had said. "Rather sophisticated for a non-telepath. Especially if this was first developed before your mutation manifested."

"Ah just don't like the looks of that," Rogue had said indicating the thirty or so strands of web that linked the Core with the Closet. "Those either," Rogue had added as she pointed to the dozen of strands that stretched the entirety of Rogue's mindscape and beyond. "They reach beyond my mind, ya know. Ah can feel 'em in my chest."

Jean had touched one of the strands that stretched the mindscape while Emma examined those that linked the Core to the Closet.

"They are safe," Emma had said. Jean had nodded her assent and Rogue had relented.

__

We didn't even really test it, Jean thought, still working out her answer to her husband's question.

**__**

"But they won't be if ya'll don't keep yoah word," the Shimmering Voice, now called Eleven, had said in response to Emma's comment. That time it hadn't bothered coalescing into cloud form. It had just spoken from everywere and nowhere all at once. **_"Ah'll be waiting for ya after that intruder is taken care of." _** Eleven had said, speaking to the Shadow King.

__

And that threat had clinched it for me. Emma too, I suspect. But Emma never shows anything but absolute confidence. She wouldn't have admitted her lack of surety about what went on if she were being hung over the edge of a cliff by Eleven herself. I doubt Emma would show it even now, even knowing that Rogue had absorbed Emma from more than fifteen feet away.

Then they had just left. Rogue had accompanied them to the place where they had entered. They had seen the Five in the distance on the other side of the web fence border. The Shadow King and Xavier, though, had been nowhere in sight.

__

How much control did we really have over ourselves in there? 

Nothing—NOTHING—can penetrate Rogue's shields without Rogue's express invitation. And shields, no matter how strong, how sophisticated, how old, how complicated were just the extension of the mind. The mind that produced them had to be stronger, more sophisticated, older, and more complicated than the shields themselves. That was a telepathic absolute. Think about it, how could a weaker mind support strong shields?

And Rogue's mind, because of her mutation, was strong enough to overtake ANY mind it attempted to absorb.

__

If her mind is that powerful, then how did Emma and I clean it up so easily on our own? We couldn't even enter the shields by ourselves. We weren't just let in. Rogue—an imprisoned Rogue—led us through, showed us the way. And even she hadn't opened the shields to us. Whatever controlled the shields had let us in… Just like it had to have let the Shadow King inside. 

Three times the Shadow King had been inside Rogue. The first time was on Muir Island, just after Storm, reduced to a child form, had returned to the X-Men with a mysterious stranger, Gambit, in tow. The Shadow King had gotten control of Rogue, then, just as easily as he had gotten control of all the others. It had been no more a struggle for him than it had been for him to control any of the others. 

__

We shrugged it off as his being an Omega class mutant. He was stronger than Rogue. That's all… Yeah, right! One Omega class mutant could slip in without a fight when a slew of Alpha class telepaths—and a thief—couldn't have any hope of even breaking inside?

The second time the Shadow King had penetrated Rogue's shielding, from what Jean had heard, was while Rogue was away searching for the diaries. The Shadow King had taunted Rogue then; had to work a little to get her. She never told anyone what he had used to try to convince her to let him in, but Rogue had presented Storm with another diary at the end of the entire incident. 

__

Something tells me that the Shadow King used Rogue's foster parents, Mystique and Irene, and something in the diaries, something Rogue feared, to get to her. That's how the Shadow King works. He preys on existing fears.

Rogue had beaten him that second time. Her mind and will pitted against his and she'd won. Sure, she had used Psylocke's power to imprison him, but it was Rogue that had won. That first time on Muir Island, though, Rogue hadn't won against him. A weapon created by Forge had released Rogue, and many others, from the Shadow King's thrall. And the third time, that incident with the collars supplied by Sinister? It seemed as though he wasn't even a match for Rogue. 

__

We never did get the details on that one, did we? The scandal of Rogue and Logan's affair, and Gambit's violent vision took precedence… It took precedence over the most powerful psionic mutant ever known?! Jean scoffed, and Scott sat up and turned on the light on his side of their bed.

"Jean?" Scott asked. He was getting worried. Jean was taking a very long time to answer his question.

"I'm still thinking," Jean snapped. She immediately softened and explained, "I'm sorry Scott, but I'm just now realizing a lot of things that we all have just taken in stride without so much as a 'by your leave.'"

"Like what?" 

"There are way too many inconsistencies regarding the fortitude of Rogue's mental shields and her mental abilities!" Jean blurted out, exasperated.

"Jean…" Scott said trying to calm her down. He hadn't wanted to start a fight just before they went to bed after the very trying day Jean had gone through. He just wanted to let her know of his doubts, his fear of her entering into Rogue's mindscape. 

That's when Scott paused. Why was he so afraid, really? 

It was simple. The realization was evident in his words and his expression when he spoke. "You should never have been able to get in. Not that easily. Even when Rogue had first asked for help in dealing with her powers, when Rogue had _wanted_ Xavier to enter her mind, he couldn't…"

"That's what I'm saying," Jean said in exasperation. She took a deep breath and released it slowly. 

__

Why am I getting so angry with Scott. This isn't his fault... But he's our leader, he's not just supposed to train us to fight to our deaths, he's supposed to watch out for our well being as well.

Jean shook her head. That wasn't what she really thought… felt. There was a little of that in her, yes, in the deep recesses of her thoughts. But it wasn't his fault. She knew that. But still she couldn't quench her bubbling anger. It was becoming absurd.

"Listen, Scott," Jean started again. She had to get this out. If she couldn't control her anger completely or if it took all night to say it while she kept calming herself, then so be it. Scott would just have to deal. Not everything she did had to be tamed so she could tread lightly on his thin pride_. _

Okay, I'm already starting up again, She realized with a start, so decided to just spit it out in a rush. The longer this took, the less control she was feeling. 

"One moment Rogue has a mind so formidable that she can keep out Xavier and myself combined," Jean explained. "She contained the Shadow King—and don't even comment on that—I know that it's Psylocke's power containing him. But it is Psylocke's power being controlled by Rogue in some fashion. Psylocke was a less powerful telepath than myself, Alpha class, yes, and stronger than most, but less powerful than I am. Imprisoning the Shadow King had wiped her out and… and… and Rogue does it without even breaking a sweat. And she can hold him while wearing a collar!" 

Jean took a deep breath before launching into the counter tirade, the point of her explanations. She said, "Yet, other times Rogue doesn't seem to have any more strength of mind than the weakest of us. She's been fooled by Wyngarde. Sinister took control over her. Carol took control over her. Hell, Scott, Magneto brainwashed her with the rest of the X-men like it was nothing!"

"But she was the first to break free of it [1]," Scott offered. He was becoming defensive against his wife's tantrum. _Why the hell is she getting so mad at me?_

"But he shouldn't have been able to do it at all!" Jean screamed, jumping out of the bed and glaring down at Scott.

"Is this making you feel inadequate?" Scott said before he could stop himself. It'd come out before he'd realized he'd thought it. He immediately wished he could take it back. 

Jean turned on him. Her gaze was even and menacing. She said, "I'm going to pretend you didn't say that, Scott."

Scott scooted to her side of the bed and swung his legs over the edge so he could sit and face her straight on. "You're right," he said, "That was uncalled for." He reached out and took her hands in his, pulling her to face him directly. "I'm sorry I brought this up, okay. I didn't realize it meant so much to you to help her."

Jean sighed and sat down beside him on the bed. "But that's my point. I'm not upset over that, Scott. I mean, I do want to help her. I do. She's my teammate and my friend. Even if we've never been that close she's still my friend. And it's my duty to help…" 

She pulled her hands from him and covered her face. 

"It's that duty that's keeping me involved. Not friendship." 

She never felt like she had to hide from Scott before and the urge to do so at that moment made her sick to her stomach. 

"But, the truth is, I don't want to help her that badly," she said from behind her hands. "I'm actually afraid to go back inside her mind." 

She was ashamed. She was being cowardly. 

"I was sucked in today, Scott. I had no control. None. I was at the mercy of something that I'm beginning to think doesn't know the meaning of the word…Think about it Scott. There isn't a mind strong enough to block her absorption powers." She had to force herself to continue. "They way I'm feeling now, Scott… If I ever go back in there, it won't be from my doing."

That startled Scott. When he had made the comment that started their conversation… argument, he hadn't expected her to actually comply. He hadn't expected her to even consider it. Scott understood duty. It was who and what he was. He was the epitome of Duty. He cared for every last one of his team, but it was his duty to send them to fight, knowing that the next fight could be the death of one of them. He loved Jean, loved her like the part of himself that she was, but his sense of duty wouldn't let him remove her from the same deadly risks that he asked any other member of his team. As he expected duty of himself, he asked it of his team members… including his wife. He never expected her to forsake that duty for any reason, especially for fear of the risk to herself.

Yet, here she was, doing just that.

That's when it hit him. It wasn't just that. It couldn't be.

"Do you understand what I'm saying, Scott?" Jean asked, finally facing him. There was intense fear in her eyes.

"There's a lot more going on than we know about," Scott replied simply. There was a mode of uneasy acceptance to his voice.

"Exactly," Jean, more relieved, breathed out. 

****

Giggle.

****

~~~~~~~~~~~

**__**

"Fetch!"

Xavier eyed the man who he had come to know as his equal. The man was sitting, his posture comfortable and composed, in the chair on the other side of Xavier's desk. The man was at ease with himself. He was confident and he was worthy of that confidence. He knew exactly what he was capable of. And it was indomitable. 

Over the last few years, Xavier had come to be in awe of him.

The man's intelligence easily rivaled Xavier's own in its own way. His physical prowess far outreached Xavier's. In fact, it was beyond impressive. He had complete control over his own mind and body... in his own way. 

The man didn't always have that control, though. Two times in his life, as Xavier and the X-Men were well aware of, the man had not been in control of at least part of his mutation. He'd made horrendous sacrifices both times to gain that precious control. He'd indebted himself to an insidious person who would never admit an end to the debt. He hadn't known what he was getting himself into the first time… but the second time?

The man sitting on the other side of Xavier's desk was a natural born leader. But he took it one step too far. His sense of responsibility to those he cared for was, perhaps, more than was healthy. And he did it while still managing to nearly hide that he was doing it at all. 

The man in front of him was handsome and knew how to use it to get what he wanted. It had been a priceless resource in his line of work. He could persuade many a person with his slippery words and he could alter his visage to suit any situation. He could be the caring friend, the cultured entrepreneur, the shrewd businessman, the stylish playboy, the heartless seducer, the mysterious stranger, the dirty scamp, the crooked con, the action junkie, the ruthless dictator, the even-handed leader, the strategist, and so much more. But he always held the same visage in these meetings—one part authoritarian, one part cultured-entrepreneur, and one part strategist. Overriding it all was the aesthetic debonair presence. 

Xavier looked back to the screen that displayed the information on the disc that the man had brought him. As he considered the information that was on it, Xavier steepled his hands and leaned his forefingers against his lips. It was a habit of his. It was as much a signature habit of his intellectualism as holding his temples when he used his telepathy was a signature habit marking his mutancy. Neither habit really helped either action, though he told himself it helped him focus his concentration. 

Xavier looked back to the man. As he sat there in the meeting, there was no sign of the signature habits that Xavier and the X-Men had come to recognize in the man. He was a different person all together. There, in the private meetings with Xavier, was one version that the man claimed was his true self. Outside, in the mansion and fighting beside his teammates, was a second version that the man claimed was his true self. The differences between these displays of the man always amazed Xavier. They amazed him so much, Xavier wasn't even sure if this one he'd come to know during these meetings was any more real than what the X-Men had come to know. More likely, they both were. Although, not in a split personality sort of way and not in a professional-personal sort of way. Perhaps, it was like each display was the rationed parts of an amalgam. The two displays were like a deck of cards being split in half in between shuffling. The same cards existed in both sectioned piles. They were just in differing colors—red, black—and different suits—diamond, spade, club, heart.

Whatever it was, Xavier doubted he would ever know the absolute truth of the man without shearing forcefully through the man's well-shielded mind. 

__

Maybe it's both… Maybe it's more… Xavier thought to himself. 

Out loud, Xavier asked, "May I keep this copy?"

"Oui," the man simply answered. There was so much in that one word. Strength, authority, responsibility, power, control, and heart. 

"I'll need more evidence before I bring this to the team, of course," Xavier said.

The man's perfect posture fell a little. The gesture was so small most people wouldn't have noticed. The only reason Xavier did notice was because he was expressly watching for it, watching for signs of the man he knew outside this office, outside these private meetings. It'd become almost a game for them [2].

"'S not de best time, hein?" Gambit said evenly. He let a quirk of his cocky smile twitch his lips for the briefest moment. The gesture was the first obvious slip of his meeting persona.

"Ahh, yes, that… The two of you do have much to work out."

Gambit shook his head. "Y' know de rules, Xavier."

Xavier smiled. "No personal questions." Gambit always caught his subtle endeavors to council him. "This, however is common knowledge." 

"Rogue is always personal, Xavier," Gambit said without betraying the emotional uprising that accompanied the mention of her name. "'Sides if it be common, as y' say, y' wouldn't be inquiring, n'est-ce pas?"

Xavier nodded his assent. A small proud smile reached his eyes. Gambit had well and truly caught his subtle prying. He knew it wasn't a skill that he had taught Remy LeBeau, but he still couldn't help feeling the swell of pride for its display. 

"De Guild's going to want me to do it anyway," Remy said, returning to the subject of their meeting as though Rogue had never even been brought up. "I'll see dem demain soir," Gambit paused. A sly sneer skipped across face. It was the second slip of persona in as many minutes. "Long as t'ings be quiet 'til den—" 

__

This is indeed bothering you more than you've let on. It's not like you to give away so much, Gambit, Xavier mused to himself. 

"—I'll do it after de meeting wit' de Guild," Gambit said as he stood. The motion from sitting to standing was smooth, like poured water in reverse. 

"No need, Remy," Xavier said, reaching his real point on the whole matter. "I have someone else in mind."

"Logan?"

It was Xavier's turn, now. "You know the rules, Remy," Xavier said, his voice lacking any sense of chiding. No one chided this man. No one would consider it without considering a risk to his life or at least to his continued interaction with the man. "That is between me and that person only."

"Peut-etre, mais not'ing dis t'ief can't find out if I really want to know, hein?" Gambit said with a return of his cocky grin. This time it wasn't a slip. He was returning to the fun-loving scoundrel the X-Men knew—well, not so well—and loved—well, some of them, most of the time. 

"I have no doubt that you could," Xavier said as he moved the hover chair around to Gambit's side of the desk. "But you will not learn it from me and I would hope you would respect the other's privacy enough not to seek them out."

Gambit chuckled at that. He was halfway transformed to his signature X-Man self now.

Gambit used three techniques to transform from the meeting persona of master guild thief to the cocky, brazen, and flirtatious X-Men team member. When necessary, he could snap between the two instantaneously. That technique was like watching a bad movie edit. He would be one character in one frame and then another character in the next frame. The polar extreme of that technique, however, was what he was doing right then. It was a slow change that effected one aspect at a time: speech, posture, expression, demeanor, etc. The most common technique was somewhat in between. It looked like one visage poured over the other. One would flow down over the other, pouring from the top of his head to the bottom of his feet. Or vice versa—from feet to head. This third technique always reminded Xavier of Mystique's shape changing. More than once, Xavier wondered if Gambit had indeed learned the third transformation technique from Mystique herself [3]. 

__

Could Gambit have worked with Mystique in the past? And if so, did he know of Rogue before joining the X-Men?

Gambit shook Xavier's hand and headed out the door. By the time he closed the door behind him, Gambit was fully transformed.

****

Giggle.

****

~~~~~~~~~~~

**__**

Fetch!

Gambit watched Ororo water the plants in her attic bedroom. 

__

Could y' be de one Xavier be sending out on dis next mission? Gambit thought as he stifled a chuckle. For all of her skill as a thief, he could not see Storm acting the spy. Her worldly demeanor just didn't seem suited for it. _I know y' done it dough… In de past. Read y' files enough to know dat much… And y' did go t'rough dat punk stage, n'est-ce pas?_ Gambit had to hold his mouth shut to keep from laughing at the memory of the picture he'd seen in her file from those days.

"Are you going to stay out there or come in, Remy?" Storm asked without turning towards the window.

Gambit stayed on the sill. He suddenly didn't feel comfortable going inside.

"Y' doing side work for de Professor, Stormy?" 

A side-glanced sarcastic smirk was his only response.

"Didn't t'ink so." 

She'd once told him of how Xavier had convinced her to steal something for him. She'd hated it. And she'd told Xavier so after she'd done it. She wasn't against using the skills that she'd acquired from her childhood in Cairo—most of those skills came in handy in both combat and even every day living situations--but she outright refused to be a criminal ever again. She would not steal from others just because they had something she, the X-Men, or any of her friends coveted. It countered everything that the X-Men stood for. But more than that, it went against all of her religious beliefs. Nature religion, the Goddess, of course, nothing organized, nothing identified as Christian. In many Goddess religions, everyone reaps what he sows, only three-fold. And even then, it's not perceived as your exact action replayed on you identically. The powers that be have a much more cruel and harrowing sense of humor and vengeance than that.

"And don't call me that ridiculous name."

Gambit did laugh that time.

They remained quiet as Storm finished watering her plants. When she finished, she dumped the remaining water out one of the other windows that didn't frame Remy. She'd rather not waste the water down the drain. Then she glided to an easy chair in the corner nearest the window that framed Remy.

"Did you want to talk, Remy?" The concern was plain in her words and her expression. So, was the topic she was inferring to: Rogue and Logan… and his concern over Rogue's strange ailments lately.

The unease that had made him not want to enter spread deeper, more profoundly. He didn't want to discuss that topic with Storm at all anymore. The idea of it made him queasy, actually. 

__

Dis y' doing again, Onze Eleven? 

Out loud he answered with an obvious lie. "Just wondering when y' expect we be heading back out after de diaries, 's all."

Storm raised one brow to him. She didn't believe him. She knew he knew she wouldn't believe him. But, if he didn't want to talk, she wouldn't make him. That was the thing that kept their friendship so strong. It was the reason Gambit had divulged personal things to her, things that Rogue had asked him about but that he had not answered. Storm concerned herself with Remy as he was in the moment, not what he was in his past, nor what he would be in his future.

"I'm going to call a meeting about it tomorrow. We'll discuss it then."

"D'accord… G'night…"

"Good night, Remy," Storm replied, but he was already gone.

__

Sometimes, Remy, I seriously wonder if both you and Rogue would be better off if you broke it off altogether. With a heady sigh, she remembered the love for Forge she still found herself mourning on the fair occasion. _But we do not have the luxury of choosing who we love, do we?_ A smile of fondness for Gambit lightened her mood. _And you, my dear friend, are just as stubborn about giving up the chase as she is of giving up the flight._

****

Giggle.

****

~~~~~~~~~~~

**__**

Fetch!

__

Screw y', Onze Eleven, Gambit thought as he searched through Rogue's room. He was bound and determined to find some clues about Eleven, Nineteen, and the rest of what was happening to Rogue.

He didn't like that he was blaming Eleven for so much of his quirky moods lately. He took responsibility for his actions, always. But, his blaming her, he figured, may have been part of her doing as well. Or it could all just be him--parts of the less desirable sides of him that reared its ugly head every once in a while. Everybody had them and very few owned up to them.

The whole thing was wreaking havoc on his internal sensors. He didn't even trust his own thoughts and feelings anymore. That made him wonder how much he could trust the thoughts and actions of anyone who had a connection to Rogue. And, after what had taken place the night before and that day during all of Rogue's tests, he didn't much trust Rogue either. He hated that most of all. Therefore, he really, really hated Eleven. Her, he trusted least of all. It felt wrong to even think of them in the same thought: trust and Eleven. Nope, it was just wrong.

__

Y' only want to help Rogue, Onze? …Remy t'inks y' only want to help her to suit y' own agenda… How much good is dat for chere, hein? What about what Rogue wants?

He'd seen Rogue still flying when he crossed the roof after he left Storm. She was a couple miles off and was still having her fun, so he figured he had a good fifteen minutes before she'd return. Fifteen minutes to slip inside undetected, search for something on an entity that only existed within the confines of Rogue's mind, and get back out undetected. Actually, only twelve minutes, by the time he'd made it into her room after avoiding Logan's nose. Logan was on patrol that night and he was making an extra effort to go by Rogue's window just in case she had another episode. Of course, Logan just had to be passing her window right when Gambit crossed the roof to Rogue's room. Gambit had to wait until Logan was a safe distance away before he crept into Rogue's room.

Once inside, Gambit panned a quick once-over scan of the room. He immediately spotted Logan's shirt thrown on the top of her dirty laundry. She'd worn it home when her own clothes were in shreds because of Logan's claws. Gambit ground his teeth against the memory of the vision. He was sorely tempted to blow up Logan's shirt, but he was sure that it would've brought people running in there and that was the last thing he wanted at the moment. What possible explanation could Gambit have come up with if he'd gotten caught in her room? Nothing that fearless leader, Scott Summers, wouldn't lecture him about. Definitely nothing that Rogue wouldn't hold against him. So, since he couldn't blow it up, and he couldn't bring himself to touch it if he couldn't blow it up, he didn't get to search the laundry basket.

The second thing the panned scan of the room brought to his attention was the diary that Rogue had received in the meeting earlier that day. That was another bane, not as gut clenching as Logan's shirt, but a bane nonetheless. Magneto had restored the diary and kept it in a safe in his bedroom. It was a private treasure of his. Sinister had expressly left it for Rogue. The diary taunted Gambit from its nonchalant placement on the night-stand beside her bed. He wanted to read it in the worst way. 

__

What so special in dere, huh Mag's? Why did Sinister let Rogue have it?

With less than ten minutes remaining, Gambit definitely didn't have time to look through that. Neither did he have the option of taking it. Rogue would likely notice that it had gone missing. And once she did, she would come straight to him about it. That certainly wouldn't improve the precariously fragile state of their relationship at the moment. He just had to hope that she would share it with him when she finally did get around to reading it. It was a hope that made him feel like a hypocrite in more than one way.

__

Better not to t'ink of t'ings like dat at de moment, Remy. Stay focused, or y're sure to get sidetracked.

He did a quick search in all the obvious places. He scanned through her books, closet, and drawers. He was a good boy and didn't linger in her lingerie drawer, although the time factor was the prime culprit for that. The flicker of the idea of fingering her naughties did improved his mood a bit, though. He looked under the mattress and seat cushions. He pried up the loose floorboard where she kept her most precious memoirs. A picture of her and Cody he'd found there made him think of Eleven's obsession with Bobby, which made him think of Rogue kissing and touching Bobby, which made him think of Logan, which only increased his drive to find dirt on Eleven. He also found the letter that Rogue had been reading when she broke down crying on Bobby's shoulder. The time constraint couldn't keep him from reading that, though. That was relevant. He just knew it was. 

Several things bothered him about that letter. It was mailed to her from Spain, which meant it was likely from Vargas. It was scented with cologne. Vargas' cologne? 

__

What dat about? Everyone going Rogue crazy lately, or what? All we need is Longshot popping in and amnesiac boy—call me Joseph—coming back from de dead and we could fill an entire season of de dating game [5].

The cologne was an oddity. Gambit's experience with Vargas lead him to believe that the man had no interests romantically with any of the X-women. With anyone. Like Magneto, Vargas seemed to only be concerned with his own 'mutant's place in world' agenda. Granted, it was a different agenda than Magneto had. Besides, Gambit didn't really want to give credence to that concept. But he did tuck the idea in the back of his thoughts. It was really weird how so much interest from the opposite sex was stirring around Rogue lately. It was probably just his imagination, but still… Who knew what Eleven was really up to?

Gambit also didn't like what the letter itself insinuated, heck, outright admitted. Irene and Mystique knew of whatever was now going wrong with Rogue. They had known and had never done anything to prevent it. In fact, it seemed to him like they counted on it. Also, the letter insinuated that they knew what the cause was, and that they promoted Rogue's forgetfulness surrounding it. 

He committed the letter to memory, folded it up, and put it all back the way he'd found it. The whole thing was making him more and more disgusted and worried. It was just getting deeper and deeper the further they tread and there was no signs that it would ease up any time soon. 

The last thing he'd checked was Rogue's laptop. He didn't find anything pertinent on the hard drive and nothing in the disks on her desk. Although, admittedly, he didn't have to do much more than scan the file types and names. He had just signed online, having broken her password to check her email, when he heard her voice waft in through the window. By the sound of it, she was talking to Logan as he made another pass. Gambit's jaw clenched.

__

Merde! He checked his watch. It'd been less than fifteen minutes since he last passed by Rogue's window. There was no way he could have made it round the grounds that fast._ Y' really making Rogue y' business, huh Logan…_

He scrambled to close out all the files he'd opened and cursed himself for not getting to open the one email that was in the inbox. It was to riverrat, re: protégé, from—someone, he didn't catch that and cursed himself further—and it was sent just within the last few minutes.

He closed it all up and silently made his way into the hall, thanking all the powers that be that she never locked her bedroom door. The locks were on the inside and finding it unlocked after his exit would've been mighty suspicious… if she'd locked it. Along with his spatial sense, he used his thief trained hearing to listen for her entrance. 

He barely had time to get out before she flew in through her open window. Gambit waited outside her door and listened to the sounds she made as she landed and then got ready for bed. At least that was what he guessed she was doing when she opened and closed one drawer after another. That's when he remembered that she had Logan's heightened senses. He started to panic then. How could he forget such an important detail?

__

T'ink she smell dat y' were in dere, Gambit? She smell y' and hear y' out here in de hall? What about de telepathy? Did she come back 'cause she picked up y' were in dere in de first place? Dieu, Rogue! Y' make it hard for dis t'ief.

He sighed with relief when he heard her climb into bed and set her alarm clock. He listened for a little while longer, wishing, no fantasizing, that he was curled up beside her and stroking her hair until she dozed off peacefully. He pictured himself watching over her as she slept, vowing to chase away all her nightmares. Eventually, he would spoon her from behind, hold her close to him, as he nuzzled her hair and neck before drifting off to sleep, himself. The fantasy was so common for him and he ached for it so badly that he could feel it as though it were real. He closed his eyes as he felt her warmth along the length of his body. He felt the texture of her hair and the scent of her magnolia shampoo and soap. He felt the pressure of her breathing against his chest and arms as he held her close to him.

__

Why couldn't y' bounce somet'ing like dat over de catch, Onze? Gambit shook his head and pushed off the hallway wall. After listening to the content sounds of her even breathing that signaled her slumber, he left. It was time to go to bed himself.

****

Giggle.

****

~~~~~~~~~~~

Black. The air itself had mass and color. Black and laden. Eyes shut or open, it looked the same. Black and laden and vacuous. Ears covered or uncovered, even breath was swallowed by silence. Black and Laden and Vacuous and Rapacious. Skin naked or clothed, it all felt the same. Black and Laden and Vacuous and Rapacious and Absent. Nothing was there anymore. Not even her.

But she was there. Remembered. Stolen. Forgotten. Found. She was there.

A sliver of light, impossibly thin, impossibly tall, ignited. It thickened, thickened, thickened. A door. No a doorway. And the room was there. Eyes opened or closed, it looked the same. Cold and concrete. Ten feet by ten feet. Cot. Sink. Toilet. But no powers. No sound. No taste. No touch. No, not cold and concrete. She can't feel that. No touch. She can't feel her own touch if she's not even there.

But she was there. Remembered. Stolen. Forgotten. Found. She was there.

Steps lumbered through the light, through the doorway, impossibly loud, impossibly sure. They thundered, thundered, thundered. And they were there. Ears covered or uncovered, they ate the silence. Eyes opened or closed, they saw. Steps reverberated. Five glances. Five Men. Five heads. Five mouths. Five tongues. Five voices. Sound and sight. No powers. No taste. No touch. No, not steps reverberated. She can't feel that. No touch. She can't feel her own touch if she's not even there.

But she was there. They were there. Remembered. Stolen. Forgotten. Found. She was there. They were there.

And the light thinned, thinned, thinned. The sliver swallowed by the black. And it was as it was in the beginning. But this wasn't Eden and she was no Eve and there was no Adam. And though there had been light and man and woman, there was no paradise, no garden, no apple. No apple meant no knowledge of the forbidden, no knowledge of the pain of being a woman, no knowledge of sin. She suffered no sin. She suffered no touch. It was as it was in the beginning… just not that beginning. Her beginning? Someone else's beginning? She wasn't sure. It felt familiar, but she just wasn't sure. It was just beginning. Black and laden and vacuous and rapacious and absent. 

No apple. No taste. No powers. No touch. No knowledge. No memory. Black. Laden. Vacuous. Rapacious. Absent.

But she was there and they were there and she knew she knew she knew. She'd bitten the forbidden fruit that she never saw never tasted never heard never touched. It was as it was in the beginning, black and laden and vacuous and rapacious and absent, no powers, no sight, no taste, no hearing, no touch, but it wasn't the same. She knew she knew she knew. Her senses didn't matter now. She knew what was there. Cold and concrete. Ten feet by ten feet. Cot. Sink. Toilet. Five men with five heads. And five mouths. And five tongues. And five fingers on five left hands and five right hands. Five snakes in this not quite garden of Eden and she knew she knew she knew. She was the apple. She was the forbidden fruit. She was not supposed to be tasted. They were snakes and she was the apple. She was still safe. The snake did not taste the apple. The snake lured another to taste the apple. So, she was still safe.

But this was not Eden. This was Genosha. This was a cell. This was a slave collar around her neck [6]. This was five pompous magistrates surrounding her. This was Rogue without her power without control. This was five men with all the power with all the control. And Rogue had no protection from touch. 

****

~~~~~~~~~~~

**__**

Fetch!

Remy slept. He dreamt. He dreamt through the catch. He saw images of Rogue in darker days. Her memories bounced along the catch that linked him to her and they filled his dreams and they made them nightmares.

Rogue and Logan. Again. Rogue and Logan, naked. Again.

__

Non, not again!

But this was the past. This wasn't a vision like the night before. This wasn't flashes. This was Rogue's memory playback in a dream, in a nightmare, bounced across Gambit's catch_--Probably by Onze_--into his own nightmare. This was Rogue, barely nineteen, stripped of her armor of clothing, fighting beside Wolverine, stripped as much as her, on Genosha [7]. Magistrates fired at them. They were searching for Madelyne and a nurse, Jenny. 

__

Madelyne! Non, non. It didn't happen den. It didn't.

It did. Gambit's own memories interlaced with those of Rogue's that were bounced along to him. He remembered Madelyn in his memories, in his past with Sinister. Gambit's view had been askewed, like a fish eye lens, as he watched Sinister through the rounded six inch thick glass of his containment tube that was located in the corner of Sinister's monitoring room. He watched Sinister sitting in his throne, a towering twist of cables, pondering the X-Men [8]. In one hand, Sinister held a crystal figure of Jean Grey/Madelyne Pryor. Gambit couldn't tell which from his view. Hovering at eye level before Sinister was the rest of his crystal menagerie of the X-Men. There was a figure of Storm in her punk phase, Collossus and Wolverine looking much as they always did, Psylocke when she was still just a Brit and a butterfly appeared whenever she used her telepathy, Dazzler, Havoc, Longshot and Rogue in her punk phase as well. Even then, Rogue had caught Gambit's eye. The figurine captured Rogue's independence, her brash in-your-face manner, and… and… and something sweet, something innocent, something untouched, something that still hoped. Rogue's figure was closest to Sinister and Gambit was relieved that Sinister gave it so little attention. But then again, Gambit couldn't hear anything that Sinister was saying. The containment tube was Gambit's silent prison.

Madelyne and Jenny were in cells wearing Genoshan slave suits bonded to their bodies. They were wearing Genoshan slave collars. Rogue and Wolverine were nearing them. Almost there. Almost free. Wipeout. Rogue falls to the floor. She had been flying. And because of Wipeout their powers had been stripped. Magistrates pounced on them, arrested them, processed them. All along, jeers and crude comments, promises were made to Rogue by the holier-than-thou magistrates. They stall getting her into the bonded slave suit, though not into the collar. They left her naked to their eyes, their jeers, their promises, and defenseless without her powers.

In a theater in Seattle [9], Gambit moved through the uppity crowd with ease. They thought he was one of them. One of the upper crust. He found a pleasure in his seduction of the woman on his arm, in his trickery of her. She swooned to his devil may care eyes, cooed at his accented words that slithered past the cocky lilt of his lips, shivered at his expert caress of her arm, shoulder, neck, chin, cheek, and kissed as promises of more, so much more. She didn't notice that he'd slipped the diamond necklace from her neck and into his pocket. She thought the slither on her skin was from his touch, from his intuiting just how she wanted to be touched. It was like the slither of his words, so it had to be him. Gambit wouldn't be around when she realized that it was the necklace. In fact, she wouldn't be around to know it had ever been stolen.

Gambit had felt the familiar itch only minutes after the second act of the play had started. It had been months since he'd felt it. Months since Sinister had fixed him. It'd been less since he'd paid the debt to Sinister by recruiting the Marauders for Sinister's plans. And it had been even less than that since he'd paid the debt to Sinister by leading the Marauders into the tunnels where he rescued Sarah and saw a glimpse of the X-Men, of Rogue, for the first time. He'd been avoiding paying back Sinister's never-ending debt ever since. He'd been staying low, resorting to petty thievery of the pick-pocketing ilk to feed, house and clothe himself. He'd been keeping out of the contract ilk of thieving in order to keep from being noticed by Sinister or by those that Sinister would go through to find him. He hadn't even risked tapping into his enormous bank accounts just in case Sinister had been watching them. And yet, there he was, in a crowd of the rich and petty and spoiled, all his sacrifices to Sinister being rendered for naught. His powers went out of control again.

The woman he'd stolen the necklace from went quickly. She was sitting beside him. The rest of the theater patrons? Well… 

By the time the police and ambulances had arrived, Gambit was back in Sinister's clutches again. It seemed as though his control over his powers had a remote control held by Sinister.

In Genosha, Logan and Rogue were held in separate single occupant cells. Rogue's was all dark until the door opened and five magistrates entered. A couple of them were drunk. A few riled the others up. They all looked at her with a sinister gleam in their eyes.

**__**

Caught!

****

~~~~~~~~~~~

**__**

Not how ya remembered, but how it was…

Rogue was the apple and the five magistrates needed no luring to taste her.

She imagined it was the wind that fingered tendrils of her spiky hair. It wasn't. It was five fingers on five left hands and five right hands. They supplied the sense of taste and touch. She was their apple and they discovered sin through her. And they thought it was fun.

"Blood Roses, blood Roses, back on the street now. Can't forget the things you never said. On days like these gets me thinking, when chickens get a taste of your meat, chickens get a taste of your meat…" (Blood Roses –by Tori Amos) 

"_No no no no no no no no no no no no no…_" Rogue pleaded within the nightmare. It bounced along the catch and Remy heard it as he watched what she went through. But he wasn't' there. He couldn't help. He could only watch… and feel helpless. Viewing through the catch was like viewing Sinister from inside the containment tube. Only he could hear and see and feel and taste Rogue's torment. "_No No No No No…_"

She remembered that…

All they did was touch her. Rude hands, ruder glances—taunting promises of worse to come. She couldn't stop them. For so long, she dreamed of being able to touch another person without her absorbing his/her psyche. To hold, to caress, to kiss, just like any other—normal—teenage girl. In those dreams, it was the most beautiful of moments. She never imagined being handled against her will. Small wonder, then, her response is to withdraw as deeply into her mind as it's possible to go… to the lowest depths of her primal subconscious. "Cheesy neighborhood.. Thought Ah had more class [10]."

She was standing in a sleazy cityscape that represented the lowliest areas of all the major cities she'd come to know in her short life. There were signs of New York, Hong Kong, Tokyo, and so much more. The dark building towered her. The electric signs winked at her. Its occupants, the ghosts of those she'd absorbed, attacked her. But better to deal with them than to deal with what was going on outside.

**__**

"No! Ya will not hide this time!" The order pierced through Rogue's retreat and returned her to the cell. Gambit heard it as well. And he could do nothing to help. He was trapped on his side of the catch. Yet, he felt it through the catch, felt the catch itself. He tried to block out the echo of the dream, the memory and searched for the catch. If he could only find it and follow it backwards into Rogue.

Rogue snapped back into the cell.

__

"But this ain't how it happened…" Rogue whispered desperately.

**__**

"Not for ya… Ya hid out… Ya left it for me… And Ah took it with me into the Core when ya locked me in there." Nineteen's chickory voice spat the words at Rogue, never appearing to her, never being seen by Rogue. She was a stolen thing. She would never really be seen again. Not even by Rogue?

Rogue was in the cell. Black and laden and vacuous and rapacious and absent. No, not anymore. There was no light but she could see. Five pairs of eyes glowed with hunger with knowledge with domination. Five pairs of hands mingled as they groped her, stoked her, restrained her, stripped her.

"…When chickens get a taste of your meat, when he sucks you deep. Sometimes you're nothing by meat…" (Blood Roses –by Tori Amos)

Hands pinched her wrists and jerked her arms back. She winced, she wasn't supposed to feel pain like that. The hands held her arms behind her. The hand's owner pulled her into his lap, held her back tight against his chest. A tongue flicked against her neck. Hot breath kissed her ears. 

"You like that, don't ya, mutie whore? Ya like us touching ya, tasting ya," he said, followed by his nibbling her ear, and inhaling a shuddering breath. "Damn ya taste sweet, mutie. Y' taste like sex… Like sweat and fear and… antici…pation." 

He yanked back on her arms and Rogue muffled a yelp, which, in doing so, made it come out like more of a grunted moan. She felt his breath quicken against her neck in response of her sound. Felt him grind his pelvis into her back. 

"Yeah, I knew ya'd love it." 

She felt him jerk his head back as he called to the other four as he said, "Mutie bitches love it fuckin' rough!"

Laughter was the four's assent. The fifth joined in. His cackling stabbed into her ears, slapped spittle on her neck and cheek.

"..Nothing but meat…" (Blood Roses –by Tori Amos)

Four other sets of hands on her naked flesh. She felt them all at once. Two sets of hands grabbed her ankles, one set for each ankle. She kicked madly, but their grip rendered her panicked struggles to mere twitches of her legs, making her hips wrack against the lap against which she was being pulled back. The lap responded, grinding hips into her back again. Another set of hands grabbed her breasts. Pinching, twisting, tugging, squeezing. The last set grabbed her hips just before their owner's hips pushed against her inner thighs. Naked hips pressed against her naked inner thighs. 

"Blood Roses, blood Roses, back on the street now. Now you've cut out the flute from the throat of the Loon. At least when you cry now he can't even hear you. When chickens get a taste of your meat, when he sucks you deep. Sometimes your nothing but meat…" (Blood Roses –by Tori Amos)

She froze. She disappeared. Not her body, but her. She pulled inside herself again. She was remembering what was happening, what the entity, Nineteen, was forcing her to remember, and she couldn't she couldn't. 

__

"Carol-Have-ta-find-Carol-She-saved-me-last-time-She-took-over-That-really-happened-She-can-do-it-again…" Rogue said, the words spilling out in time with her scrambling, stumbling through the dirty streets of the cityscape of her remembered mindscape. The streets were empty. The ghosts were absent. Rogue tripped and fell against a brick alley wall, out of breath. "_Where-are-ya-Carol?_"

**__**

"Carol's gone. Ya've been rid of her a long time." 

A long pause as Rogue gasped for breath, keeping herself standing by leaning against the brick alley wall. 

The voice spoke again, slower, dripping the words like acid, **_"Magneto rescued ya from her, remember?"_** [11]

On the other end of the catch, Gambit heard, and watched, helpless to aid Rogue. _Dat's what he did for y', Rogue. He removed Carol's psyche from y'. Wonder how he managed dat._ He couldn't help but marvel over the revelation he'd become privy to, that no one had ever known before. She'd never divulged what it was that Magneto had done that she felt she owed him for. They all knew that he'd done something to rescue her in the Savage Land, something she felt indebted her to him. A debt that seemed to only involve a respect and affection for him, if he'd asked anything at all. 

__

Can't fault y' choice of debtors, dough, considering mine. Ol' Mags didn't ask as much in return, hein?

As much as Gambit had wanted to know more, to know the details of what happened between them in the Savage Land, he knew it wasn't relevant to what she was going through in the memory-nightmare. It was just a momentary escape from his helplessness. Besides, he didn't get a chance to wonder for much longer. 

The cityscape wrenched away and Rogue fell impossibly forward.

Rogue's hands caught her from slamming into the concrete cell floor. But only for a moment. Hands shoved into her back. Forced her down. Her elbows buckled. Her chest slammed into the floor, her forehead bounded forward… and her upper body was wrenched back up, just enough to keep her head from smacking the floor. Two sets of hands lowered her back down by her arms and held her there. Two more hands held her by ankles, from the back. Her hips bucked as she tried to break free. A weight settled them down as the fifth magistrate climbed on top of her back and leaned over her, against her, breathing into her ear. "Can't bruise that pretty li'l face, can we, mutie. Who'd wanna touch an ugly mutie whore!"

"…Nothing but meat…" (Blood Roses –by Tori Amos)

Then he drove into her. Then the thieving hands shifted and another set of hips pressed her apart. Another one tore into her and another, still, shredded into her. One. Two. Three. Four. Five. One. Two. Three. Four. Five. 

"…You gave him your blood and your warm little diamond. He likes killing you after you're dead…" (Blood Roses –by Tori Amos)

And Rogue broke. She just broke. There was nothing else she could do. She couldn't escape. She had no powers. She had no control. She had no voice. All she had was pain. Touch was pain. 

__

Merde! Stop! Leave her alone! Dieu! Get away from her. STOP IT! STOP IT! STOP IT! He stomped, he hollered, he threw charged card after charged card. There was no effect. The cards flew into the abyss surrounding him, out of sight, trailed quietly by the distant murmur of the explosions. He was in his own dreamscape. Black and laden and vacuous and rapacious. But he wasn't there with her. Her dream was inside her dreamscape self. It was bounced along his catch. It plagued him from within. And he was in his own dreamscape self. 

He couldn't help her.

**__**

"Suffer, thief! See how she was stolen! And know ah'll nevah let YA steal her!"

__

"Fuck y', Onze!" Remy screamed at the formless voice. _"Remy know its y'." _ He wasn't really sure, though, so he kept it to himself. It could be Nineteen. It could be a different entity entirely. The voice he was hearing then was clouded, disguised, unfamiliar, lacking in tamber and tonal quality, but not emotion. It was devoid of recognizable traits. Empty, absent, just like the dreamscape he was trapped in. 

Remy collapsed to his knees, his head folded against his chest in defeat. Nothing he did was having any effect. _Please don't put chere t'rough dis. Please. Remy begging y'. Just let her be. Dieu, just leave her alone._ He crumpled forward, barely catching his head in his palms before slamming into whatever nothing substance that made the floor of his black and laden and vacuous and rapacious torture chamber.

Rogue's whimper bounced across the catch.

Remy saw Red.

"…You gave him your blood and your warm little diamond. He likes killing you after you're dead…" (Blood Roses –by Tori Amos)

He pummeled the floor with his fists. Over and over and over again. Each hammered clash throttled every single word he screamed at the entity. _"Stop. It. Or. I. Swear. I'll. Rip. Ya. Out. Of. Her. With. My. Bare. Hands."_ So pointed was each word that his accent was lost in the fury of them.

"…God knows I know I've thrown away those graces…" (Blood Roses –by Tori Amos)

Pain seared him. Electric pain. Jolted him straight up like a puppet on strings. It entered through his chest, and split through him like a hundred splayed fingers. He clutched his chest, the entry point, trying to disrupt it. But he didn't.

"…God knows I know I've thrown away those graces…" (Blood Roses –by Tori Amos)

His hand closed onto the monofilamental thin string of web. He smiled. He'd found the catch. He charged it. He didn't want to explode it. He didn't want to sever it. He pushed the charge into it. Shoved it further and further down the catch. He chased it with his kinesthetic sense, his spatial awareness. Poured it into and along the catch. He followed it with his empathy, his charm powers. Then anything else of himself he could make go into it and across it and to Rogue's aid.

"..Nothing but meat…" (Blood Roses –by Tori Amos)

Rogue just laid there. Numb. Broken. Scarred. Pained. Shattered. Stolen. The last one spent himself with a final muddled groaning grunt.

"..Nothing but meat…" (Blood Roses –by Tori Amos)

Then they all got up from her. They stopped touching her. But, she could feel them where they were in the cell like her skin was swollen and raw and sensitive like it filled the universe, felt everything everywhere. They surrounded her, boasting their conquest, their taming. She saw nothing. She heard nothing. She tasted nothing. She only felt. All sensory observation was limited to her oversensitive, overtaxed skin. All she was—was touch. 

"..Nothing but meat…" (Blood Roses –by Tori Amos)

She blinked.

"…And I shaved every place where you been. I shaved every place where you been…" (Blood Roses –By Tori Amos)

__

Stars? Rogue thought as the pin points of white specked the black above her… Blood Roses… They were growing…. Blood Roses… No, they were falling… Blood Roses… They were flurries… Blood Roses… White tinged with pink flurries._ Snow?_ The first one landed on her cheek… Blood Roses… It wasn't cold… Blood Roses… She didn't bother brushing it off… It'd already touched her, didn't it? …Blood Roses… Besides, there were hundreds, thousands more falling towards her anyway. 

"…God knows I know I've thrown away those graces…" (Blood Roses –by Tori Amos)

The flurries blanketed Rogue's Black and Laden and Vacuous and Rapacious and Absent dreamscape. The flurries made it so it was no longer Black. It was Black and White-Tinged-Pink. It was no longer Laden. She was floating. The Black and White-Tinged-Pink were fluttering and floating beside her and on her and around her. It was no longer Vacuous. The White-Tinged-Pink flurries lit the vast expanse, filling the Black. The White-Tinged-Pink flurries glowed against the Black. The trees the flurries fell from_—where'd the orchard come from_--breathed out oxygen as it sucked in her exhaled carbon dioxide. The flurries lit her and she almost had enough thought to be glad that they soon buried her and the Black that supported her like a floor, yet dropped ceaselessly below. They were rising, filling it up, like an ocean of petals. They armored her skin and it was no longer Rapacious. That part was over. It was remembered. It was a memory. It was Rogue's memory now. It didn't belong just to Nineteen. It belonged to Rogue now, too.

She didn't know it, but it was the another step to Union.

Rogue rocked with the lulling motion of the floating flurrying petals… Blood Roses… They held her effortlessly, like water, like salt water, like the tear that rolled over the edge of her lower eyelid and flowed over her cheek when she closed her eyes to settle in to the drowsy final rocking of the cherry blossom petal sea.

**__**

"It's your turn ta drown in it," came the chickory voice. It was more sad than threatening. It came from the edge of the left of Rogue's peripheral. 

Rogue didn't bother to turn her head to seek a better perspective. She didn't even bother opening her eyes to seek out the speaker. Not that it would've helped. Nineteen would never be really seen again. Nineteen was a stolen thing. Nineteen was always just out of reach. Nineteen shared the burden, but that didn't change who she was. She was still on her own.

And she had pets. She had five magistrates with flowerpots for heads containing Nineteen's black withered blood roses. She kept her pets on leashes of withered thorny stems.

**_"It's yoh turn ta drown,"_** repeated the chickory tone with even more sadness. She sent a shiver through the leashes. It entered the pets. And the pets obeyed their mistress. 

"…Wrapped around your feet / wrapped around like good little roses…" (Blood Roses –by Tori Amos)

They leapt into the ocean of cherry blossom petals. One's leash looped Rogue's left ankle. Another looped the right one. Then each of her wrists. Then Rogue's neck. They sank into the ocean of cherry blossom petals. Soon their flower pot heads quickened below the surface and the leashes knotting around Rogue's wrists and ankles and neck became taut. 

Yank! 

Rouge was pulled under.

__

Non y' don't, chere. Gambit thought as he dove into the White-Tinged-Pink abyss after Rogue. 

He'd traversed the catch, arriving to see Rogue being leapt upon by the pets. He'd run across a surface he'd not known was like liquid. The not knowing let him run across it. But, why would he have thought it was anything but solid everywhere Rogue wasn't? The moment before the pets had sunk, before Rogue had sunk, it appeared to him that she was lying, half buried in a drift of blossoms, on the solid petal covered ground of the cherry tree orchard he'd arrived in when he'd traversed the catch.

From the moment of his arrival, he'd seen a version of Rogue in the left of his peripheral vision. It was a corporeal form of Rogue that resembled the Rogue he'd seen as a crystal figurine in Sinister's menagerie. Her demeanor was the same cocky, indignant, and fierce independence that he'd seen in her crystal figurine back then. Her image was sensed, sort of like the memory of a lost and forgotten thing from long ago, more than seen. It was fuzzy, with several lines detailing the silhouette edge of her form. It was like a 3-D picture when viewed without the 3-D glasses. It was an exacting cut of her in triplicate. Each version layered the next, overlapping with the briefest of misalignment. It made her seem more vivid than life itself, like the 3-D picture when viewed with the 3-D glasses. Leashed from her ankles, wrists and neck were what appeared to be the same five magistrates from the memory dream that had been bounced across the catch. He couldn't be sure though because their faces were undefined.

There were to be no formal introduction, but somehow he knew that corporeal form on the edge of his peripheral was Nineteen.

Gambit had ignored Nineteen and had immediately sprinted across the blossom-covered ground when he saw the pets launch at his Rogue. But though Nineteen could never be seen, she wouldn't be ignored. All the while that Gambit raced to his Rogue, Nineteen remained in the same place in his peripheral. All the while, she sneered at him.

**__**

"Ssscoundralll," the chickory voice hissed. The moment the words escaped her lips they were smothered by the cloistered atmosphere of the orchard. But Remy had heard her. Somehow, he'd still heard her. The words slithered through him, slowed his motion for the length of the stretched word. He was trapped in slow motion for the length of the word and she shook with laughter over it.

When the word ended, he returned to his sprinting speed. He reached the edge of the drift that half buried his Rogue and he dove, speeding hands first into the blossom ocean. Only, he was stalled again.

**__**

"Thhhiefff," the chickory voice hissed, stalling his dive into slow motion for the duration of her slithery slow word. He hung there, poised over the drift, nearly immobile.

The word ended and Remy's motion was returned to its previous speed as he plunged into the blossoms. They feathered his face, tickling him as he swam down and down in search of his Rogue.

Hands brushed the inner span of her arms as his arms wrapped around her waist from behind and pulled her to him. She didn't flinch. She didn't care. She was numb. She was broken. She was done.

"Remy got y', chere," he whispered reassuringly into her hair as he snuggled her more protectively to him. His breath fluttered her hair, made it tickle her neck, her oversensitive skin. She leaned her head back against his chest. She felt his hair tickle her forehead as he leaned his head against hers. "Remy here… Remy won't let anyt'ing happen to y'… I swear it."

They continued to fall. Him wrapped around her from behind, her settled into his embrace. The longer he held her, the more alive she became, the less sensitive she became, the less she felt. Her skin was no longer a swollen thing. Her skin was just her skin. All she felt on it was the warm pressure of him and the feathery soft flutter of the blossoms as they plunged deeper and deeper.

Remy felt the change in her and he felt the tension release from him. He folded more easily around her. They both closed their eyes and enjoyed the moment of perfection of the embrace. Nothing else mattered. Only they existed.

****

~~~~~~~~~~~

**__**

"Damn Cajun!" Eleven spat. 

She was coalesced atop the Core digging wisps of her cloud form, as though they were fingers, into the webbed shielding of the Core in her frustration. But the wisps weren't fingers. She didn't have mass; she had no more substance than vapor really. She was nothingness, discarded thought, and at most she could only physically define herself into a cloud form. Gambit's catch floated within the cloud. The catch was brimming with electric pink energy, Gambit's kinetic energy. He'd actually managed to kick her out of the catch and it really, really pissed her off. 

**__**

"Ya'll pay foh spoiling mah fun, swamp rat," growled her shimmering voice. A tremor coursed through the wisps into the web shielding of the Core. The Core shivered in response, in rhythmic time with a shimmer cascading in a wave across the shield itself.

****

Giggle.

****

~~~~~~~~~~~

"Chere…" Remy whispered against her cheek.

"Yes, Remy…" she whispered back.

They were no longer falling. They weren't even floating. But they weren't standing or sitting or lying down. There was nothing around them. Blackness didn't even surround them. It was colorless. It was formless. It was existence just for them. 

"Y' see dis… Y' feel dis…" he whispered as he snuggled his bare cheek against her bare cheek. There was no transfer. 

Her hands instinctively grasped at her neck, but didn't find a collar there. She smiled. He felt the change of expression in the movement of her cheek against his cheek.

"We're touching…" she whispered happily.

"Oui…" 

His smile broadened and she nuzzled her cheek against his, feeling the brazen texture of his stubble. "It's scratchy…" 

"Oui…" He smiled.

But something was nagging him. It wasn't fair. It was childish and selfish, but that didn't matter. It wasn't fair. How could he let himself be angry with her for what she'd done with Logan only the night before if his concern for her every time she was endangered kept usurping that anger. As long as these episodes, these emergencies kept up, they'd never really get to discuss their own problems. They'd never get to work themselves out. They would remain in suspension much like they were right then in the dreamscape inside Rogue's mindscape. The problem with that was that this place didn't really exist. How long could they last in their purgatory?

****

~~~~~~~~~~~

"_What are you up to?_"

Eleven looked down from atop the Core and saw Emma's ghost looking up at her. She looked away as though there was never anything there.

"_Ahem!_" Emma's ghost said in annoyance as she glared up at the cloud atop the Core. 

"**_Shoo!_**" Eleven said without even gracing Emma's ghost with another glance.

Emma's ghost rolled her eyes and sighed indignantly.

"**_You still here?_**" Eleven asked.

"_Not like I can leave?_" Emma's ghost, mocking Eleven, said.

"**_Listen, psi witch,_**" Eleven said as she whirled her coalesced form down and around Emma's ghostly body. "**_Ah am Queen here,_**" She threatened as she searched for Emma's catch**_, "And Ah've only just begun._**"

"_Really?_" Emma's ghost replied with an I-know-something-you-don't-know smirk.

"**_Huh?!_**" Eleven gasped when Emma's catch didn't answer. 

Emma's ghost's smirk broadened. She held up her catch for Eleven to see. Emma's ghost whipped it up then down, sending a wave reeling along the catch to where it connected with the Core. Eleven expected the wave to disappear inside the Core, and part of it did. But, part of it did not, too. That part spread across the exterior sphere shaped web shielding of the Core. It spread across it like water ripples when a raindrop splashes into it. Emma's ghost and the coalesced form of Eleven moved around the Core, following the wave. On the other side, the wave met with a thin, tiny, barely noticeable strain of the web. They followed the wave as it traveled along this strain to where it breached the boundary of Rogue's mindscape and entered the commons of the astral plane.

Emma's ghost met Eleven's shocked expression with an even, guarded gaze and said, "_Queen, my ass._" 

****

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

To be continued in Chapter 10 - Roil

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

FOOTNOTES:

[1] X-Men # 1. Magneto kidnapped most of the X-Men and brainwashed them into working for him. The moment any of them used their powers, they broke free of the brainwashing. Rogue was the first one to do this. She'd used her powers when she flew away from Gambit because of his first on panel flirtation with her.

[2] Gambit's authoritative aspects were hinted at in the short-lived Gambit series when he took on the leadership of the New Orleans Thieves Guild. However, I must give credit to Lori McDonald and Valerie Jones for the best and most memorable rendition and application of it (again I stress that everyone should read their thieves stories, even if Blind Sight still hasn't been finished). Gambit also lost and regained control of his charging powers in this series by way of Sinister.

[3] Credit must go to Valerie Jones for the theory of Mystique and Gambit having a history. It's been hinted at, sort of, in the comics, but Valerie flat out revealed it in Blind Sight. If you want details, read her story.

[4] English translation of the French word Onze is Eleven.

[5] That comment was for you, Jean 1. Though it was bound to make it in there in this chapter or the next anyway. It's all part of the puzzle.

[6] Uncanny X-Men # 236, Genosha story. (from the Claremont masterpiece days of comics). Yes, I know I'm taking liberties and messing with X-Men Canon. The Core is made up of blocked memories of Rogue's most traumatic experiences. I'm saying that Rogue "forgot" the worst of what happened in Genosha and only remembered what was shown in the comic. Also, # 236 didn't actually have the slave collars in it, but I'm pretending that it did. 

[7] Again. Issue # 236.

[8] Uncanny X-Men # 239, Inferno story. I've added Gambit into the scene that was originally in the comic, as though he were off panel. I know he hadn't even been created, yet. His entrance was # 266. And yes, obviously this happened after the Genosha issue. 

[9] My own imaginative deduction places the Seattle event—which Rogue absorbed from Gambit's memory—at the same time as the Genosha incident. That means it occurred in between the Morlock Massacre and the Inferno story lines. This conception of the Seattle Theater ordeal also marks a third loss of control of Gambit's kinetic powers (not just the two times that Xavier and the X-men know of in the comics, a knowledge I reiterated earlier in this chapter during the Gambit/Xavier meeting).

[10] This entire paragraph is a direct quote from issue # 236, pg. 19. Can you believe they actually numbered the pages at one point?

[11] The savage land, issue # 269. 

****

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~


	10. Chapter 10 Roil

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Seether

Chapter Ten – Roil

By Randirogue

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

"I am not your senorita. I am not from your tribe. In the garden I did no crime. I am not your senorita. I am not from your tribe. If you want inside her well, boy, you better make her raspberry swirl. Things are getting kind of desperate. When all the boys can't be men, everybody knows I'm her friend…" (Raspberry Swirl –by Tori Amos)

**__**

"Wakey, wakey, Roguey…"

It was late… about eleven am. It was the day following the memory/dream about Genosha, the tests in the danger room, Nineteen's escape, and the mysterious absorption of Emma's powers. It was two days since Rogue's night out with Bobby, which had all gone to hell when she factored in Eleven's violation of Gambit and other things. It was two-three days since she'd had the second episode which resulted in the Shadow King's escape from his prison on the astral plane and taking up residence inside her own mindscape. It was four-five days total since the first episode, the thing that led everybody to believing she'd been abused as a child. 

"_Wish they'd all just mind their own business._"

"**_They're just worried, Sugah… They're yoah friends after all._**"

"_Stuff it, Eleven… you're part of the problem._"

Rogue pressed both hands to her head trying to remove the ache from it. It didn't help any. The memory/nightmare ripped her up pretty badly and trying to go over the events of the past four or five days wasn't helping any. Way too much had happened in way too short a period of time. The past week was blurring all together as though her mind couldn't process that much personal trauma all at once and believe it had all really happened. All in all, Rogue was about fed up with all of it.

Rogue peeled herself from her bed. She warily removed the blood stained bedding, balled them up and tossed them in a corner. She'd throw them away—_No, burn 'em_—after she cleaned herself up.

She staggered to the shower. It amazed her that Wolvie's healing factor didn't help wake her up any faster on mornings like these. The shower helped though, especially when she drew on Wolvie's heightened senses to counteract her own invulnerability—the little that it could—so that she could really relish the feel of the searing hot water massaging its way down her aching body.

__

Aching mind, more like.

Her head was still reeling from the memory/nightmare and Emma's telepathy was on overdrive. Rogue couldn't turn it off. It was taking a great effort to keep the hundreds--_feels more like thousands_--of thoughts down to a dull roar. Some of the thoughts she couldn't keep down at all. Certain people were pounding at the back of her eyes with a sledgehammer. There was an obvious connection to who those certain people were. They weren't necessarily the people she was closest to, but it was the people she'd known the longest, and had the most involvement with.

At that moment, the loudest and most forceful one was Storm.

"_Ah'm coming!_" Rogue telepathically screeched to every gathered X-Treme team member when she 'heard' Storm's thought-decision to finally invite Rogue to their meeting. It caught Storm off guard since she hadn't even reached a hand to activate her communicator yet. 

Rogue had sensed the team's gathering conversation as soon as she had woken up… And Storm was just now contacting Rogue to join them. It ticked her off that Storm hadn't bothered to try and tell her about the meeting until well after the meeting had technically begun. 

"_Can't a girl shower in peace?"_ Rogue added as she furiously scrubbed the last of the dried blood from the inside of her thighs. She was tired of having to do that, too. That was the second time this week. The first, obviously, was when she'd survived the first episode that brought all this attention to Rogue and her past and her powers.

"_Remy could come back dere and help y' out if y' want._" Gambit teased. Rogue even saw, through her telepathic mind's eye, his cocky devil-may-care grin that accompanied his thought. It actually lightened her mood a little. But just a little.

"_Ah think ah can handle it, Remy. All these powers have to be good for something, ya know._"

Rogue heard his mental chuckle in response. She sighed. She was glad that he hadn't continued the banter. Even that was too much for her right then. 

Rogue focused on blocking out their minds. She didn't want to know what they were thinking about her right then… They had purposely started the meeting without her.

__

Ah hope Storm's gonna say we're taking off again… Ah really needed something else to focus on. She kept that thought to herself as she tried to blank out all the individual voices slamming into her. If she couldn't stop it completely she at least wanted to try to get all the voices to blend like a sort of crowd static. 

Rogue knew all to well how the onset of an Alpha class telepathic power felt. She'd heard Jean talk about her powers, saying how they sometimes made her feel like she was sitting in the middle of a Super Bowl game, right on the field with the players. The players on the field, the ones ramming into each other and sometimes into her, were a mixture of the people she knew the best and the longest as well as those closest to her, vicinity-wise. But that was only how it became after the power had been there awhile, after control had been honed. When the power was new, when her biology was adjusting to it being added to her genetic cocktail, it was much, much different. It was much harsher.

New Alpha class telepathic powers were a constant rush. A painful rush. Instead of being a person in the field of the Super Bowl, the telepath's mind was a doorway, the only doorway in a grand sold-out theater in which someone had just screamed 'FIRE!' Everyone was trying to get through the telepath's mind all at once. It wasn't pretty. 

Rogue was getting another dose of that right then because of having absorbed Emma the evening before. It felt like all of the people from Westchester to New York City and beyond were trampling each other to fit through her mind. Thousands of people were rushing her all at once. Knowing that it wouldn't last too long wasn't much consolation at the moment. Still, once her own biology had adequately assimilated Emma's powers, it would simmer down to what Jean's or Xavier's powers were… completely controllable. Even better, she could turn it on and off at whim, like she did with Jean's and Xavier's telepathy, like she did with all the powers she'd absorbed. Until then, she'd just have to live with it. It wasn't fun.

Offhandedly, Rogue wondered, H_ow much worse it could be for an Omega class telepath. Would it feel like a million people rushing through? More? Or would it be different altogether_

Rogue wasn't sure. The Shadow King was Omega class. He'd been inside Rogue under his own powers, but she'd never absorbed him with her own powers. She was glad she never had absorbed him. She didn't think she ever wanted to find out what that would be like. Not that she would ever be able to. Not anymore, at least. The Shadow King was the only known Omega class telepath and he was permanently imprisoned on the astral plane.

Rogue's alpha class telepathy behaved no differently than any other alpha class telepathy… Except for one thing. She had more than one alpha class telepathic power. If she were to ever access and activate more than one of those telepathic powers at once… Would it feel like an Omega class telepathy does? Would it be worse? …Well, lets just say that Rogue never ever wanted to even consider what that would feel like.

Giggle.

"_Can it._"

"**_Oops! Ya heard meh?_**" That time Eleven was careful to keep the thought from Rogue's awareness.

"_Yeah, Ah did._" It didn't work, Rogue heard her.

Eleven clamped down as hard as she could, trying once again to keep Rogue from hearing her thoughts. "**_This too?!_**"

"_Uh-huh._"

"**_Damn it!_**"

"_Ya got that right, Sugar._"

"**_Screw ya._**"

If Eleven had a physical body form with legs and arms and fists, she would have stomped and kicked and punched anything she could reach. But she had none of those things. So, she let go of the little form she had, that of the shimmering cloud, and dispersed into nothing.

Eleven didn't understand how Rogue could hear her even though she didn't want her to. That had never happened before, and she couldn't conceive of what incited this change. The only thing that was different was what had happened last night with Emma. Last night, she found out that she didn't have control of Emma's ghost or catch. That was infuriating her. Eleven was supposed to have control. Not control of Rogue, though she had gotten good at pushing Rogue's buttons. But she had power control. Whatever she could access, she could control. IT had helped her learn that control. IT had taught it to her while she was growing up in the isolated Core. She'd kept it when she'd escaped the Core all those years ago. Granted, she was lessened when Emma and Jean had re-shielded the Core. That had effectively severed her from the rest of the Core, from the rest of herself that still remained inside the Core. But, she still had control.

Until now, it seemed.

Oh, but she would get it back. Somehow, some way, she would get it back. Or at the very least, she'd get revenge.

****

~~~~~~~~~~~

"And thoughts you thought you'd never tell. Line me up in single file with all your grievances. Stare, but I can taste you're still alive below the waste. Ripples come and ripples go and ripple back to me ...The Lord of The Flies was diagnosed as sound. " (Pandora's Aquarium –by Tori Amos)

A few hours earlier…

"…but I don't feel comfortable with the idea of her coming along with us," Neal said.

They were sitting around the living room area of a posh hotel suite in New York City that Remy had appropriated for them to use. Remy was at the table, his back to the corner so that there were no doorways behind him. He was shuffling a deck of cards, a ringing ffflllllppp, resounding off the glass top. Sage was poised on the other side of the table. She leaned one elbow on the glass and watched the gathered group with a thoughtful expression. She had yet to speak up. Neal was also at the table with Sage and Remy, though he'd pulled his chair out and angled it so that he wasn't blocking Remy in and was still able to face the others. Bishop was sitting on a love seat, his grim expression poignantly surveying the other occupants, the windows, the sliding glass door to the balcony, the bathroom entrance, the bedroom entrance, and the door to the hall. Storm was in the love seat that was a twin of the one Bishop sat in. However, where he was stiff and on edge in his alertness, Storm was pensive, sober and serene in her observances.

"I am having the same concerns, Neal," Storm said, her expression unchanging. "That is why I have asked you here before bringing Rogue into the meeting. I would like to hear all of your opinions on the matter."

"For me, it's simple, Stormy," Gambit said. He paused and grinned at her, waiting for her usual complaint about the nickname. She raised an eyebrow, signifying that she was not in the mood for games, so he relaxed his cocky grin and said, "I go where Rogue goes."

Bishop raised an eyebrow at that. "You are proposing an ultimatum, LeBeau? You think your involvement is that crucial? If you remember properly, you were not part of our original search. You merely tagged along after we pulled your butt out of the fire with that whole wanted for murder thing. Or did you think we had forgotten that?"

"Non, dat's not what I meant at all," Remy said. Ffffllllppp. "T'ough, if y' do remember right, Stormy did invite me in de beginning, but Rogue asked me to stay behind. _She's_ de only reason I didn't come along in de first place." Remy narrowed his eyes on Bishop as he continued, "Mais don't get me wrong, Pup. Gambit was never far behind y'. Gambit knew where y' were and what y' was doing." He leaned back, almost lounging back into his chair and flashed Bishop a cocky grin when he said, "Gambit even pay a li'l visit to Vargas."

"How'd you manage doing that without getting killed, Gambit?" Bishop asked suspiciously. "He defeated Rogue, nearly killed Hank and, did in fact kill Psylocke, all in the span of about an hour, yet you beat him? You expect us to believe that?"

"Oui… and non. We didn't fight."

"Then what _did_ you do?" Bishop countered in a threatening tone. 'Compare notes on how to spy on the X-Men' was implicitly implied in Bishop's gaze. The accusation was not lost on Gambit.

Gambit's reaction was instantaneous. It was silent. Nothing changed outwardly, it was all inwardly, but suddenly Gambit was a different person. He was suddenly hard, unforgiving, ruthless, fierce, and dangerous. His eyes were cold, dull, the onyx swallowing up the ruby. His grin hadn't even changed, but now it was no longer suave and cocky, it was menacing. His easy lounging posture hadn't budged, yet he now seemed like he was about to launch out of the chair and pounce on Bishop. 

Neal actually flinched. Sage sat back and eyed Gambit in interest, studying him like he was a newly discovered organism. Bishop fingered his ever-present gun in his lap. Storm stood and was about to speak when…

Wolverine closed the door behind him and stalked into the room. He took one look at Gambit's defensive visage, and knew that someone had pricked the Cajun's pride… and maybe more. "Hehe… Did I start a trend?" Wolverine said, trying to diffuse the tension before Gambit did pounce on Bishop.

****

~~~~~~~~~~~

"Oh my stars and garters…" Beast exclaimed in a hushed voice. What he had just noticed was so surprising and disturbing he didn't have the strength of breath to make it come out as much more than a whisper.

He'd woken up early that morning, anxious to continue working on the Rogue mystery. While examining the columns of readings from the personas, what he and Xavier had assumed was the Core, and her powers, he had a brilliant idea for testing the collars. There was something still bothering him about them. Sinister would in no way have given the collars up for Rogue to use without gaining something from doing so. So, he ran simulations while hooking the collars up to a relay system which linked the information contained in the columns through the collars. 

There was a reaction. 

Each collar actively interacted with the Shiar based coding network of specific columns. Not all of the columns were effected, but a good majority of them were.

Hank grinned. _Not as well read as you boast, huh Essex,_ Hank joked to himself while at the same time feeling a little bit proud that he knew at least a few things about Rogue that Sinister apparently did not. Hank wasn't normally a very competitive person, but his years in the X-Men definitely helped bring out his appreciation of having one-upped an enemy.

The discovery of Sinister's purpose for the collars put him in a grand mood. 

****

~~~~~~~~~~~

"So don't give me respect, don't give me a piece of your preciousness. Flaunt all she's got in our old neighborhood, I'm sure she'll make a few friends. Even if the rain bows down, let us pray as you cock-cock-cock your mane…" (Cruel –by Tori Amos)

**__**

"Ah promise Ah'll do better next time," Nineteen wailed, her chickory voice thick and rasping from crying. **_"Ah'll make it worse,"_** she said, managing to regain her fervor. She yanked harshly on the leashes, making the cowering pets jerk closer to her. **_"They'll do what Ah tell 'em. They'll do more."_**

__

Well, isn't this interesting, Emma's ghost mused to herself as she watched from behind one of the cherry trees. In her left peripheral was the persona, who Emma's ghost figured out to be Nineteen. The never-truly-seen entity was on her hands and knees. Her fists were balled, clutching handfuls of dirt and fallen petals. Her tri-echo form was shaking. It was a dizzying sight to behold. 

At first, when Emma's ghost came upon the orchard, and eventually Nineteen, she'd figured that Nineteen was speaking to her pets. Then as she listened in longer, she'd figured that Nineteen was a slightly mad persona and was talking to her self. When she heard Eleven's familiar voice coming from everywhere and nowhere all at once, she'd finally understood that Nineteen was actually speaking to Eleven. Nineteen was being punished for something that Eleven had deemed a less than worthy performance. 

**__**

"Like that wouldn't make her suspicious," came Eleven's shimmering voice, emanating from everywhere and nowhere. **_"Damn, yoah ignorant! Yoah stupid an' yoah a coward. No wondah ya got locked up in the Core ovah some measly jeering an' pawing."_**

Nineteen shimmered as though Eleven had infused her cloud form in her and had attacked her from within. Nineteen shuddered. A moment later, Nineteen's elbows buckled and her face careened to the ground.

"I can be cruel. I don't know why. Why can't my ba.ll.oo.n stay up in a perfectly windy sky? I can be cruel, I don't know why, I don't know why…" (Cruel –by Tori Amos)

**__**

"Ah was raped," Nineteen whimpered.

**__**

"Ya were not."

**__**

"It felt like rape to me." Nineteen had spoken it so quietly, Emma's ghost almost didn't catch it, **_"It was rape… to me."_**

**__**

"Ah don't care how YA feel. Ya were supposed ta make HER hurt. Ya were supposed ta make HER believe they had raped HER."

**__**

"She does think that. Ah know she does," Nineteen wailed.

**__**

"It wasn't good enough! She's still too strong!"

**__**

"It wasn't my fault. It was that ssscoundralll."

Nineteen shimmered again, then collapsed hard on the ground again. She raised her head slowly, the fight all but gone from her.

**__**

"Ah'm sorry. Ah don't know what else to say… Ah'll do whatever ya want, whatever ya tell me." Nineteen pleaded pathetically.

**__**

"Oh, Ah'm sure ya will. Ah'm sure ya will."

Nineteen shimmered once more, but the shimmering traveled into the vine like leashes. The leashes sprung to life, coiled around Nineteen, wrapping her like a mummy. _No, not a mummy,_*Emma's ghost realized when she saw the coils constrict on Nineteen, _Like a snake._

"...Dance with the Sufis, celebrate your top ten in the charts of pain. Lover, brother, bogenvilla, my vine twists around your need. Even the rain is sharp like today as you sh-sh-shock me sane… I can be cruel." (Cruel –by Tori Amos)

Nineteen convulsed, completely out of control.

**__**

Giggle. The laughter was just a bit mad.

__

"What ya up to, Eleven?" Rogue asked._ "Ah can hear ya giggling, but Emma's causing an awful lotta static right now…_"

"**_Oh, nothin', Sugah. Nothin' at all…_**"

****

~~~~~~~~~~~

"...And thoughts you thought you'd never tell. Line me up in single file with all your grievances. Stare, but I can taste you're still alive below the waste. Ripples come and ripples go and ripple back to me …The Lord of The Flies was diagnosed as sound. " (Pandora's Aquarium –by Tori Amos)

Gambit eased back on the couch, into a more relaxed veneer once Storm managed to calm down the tension. He'd gotten up from the table when he saw Wolverine sit on the couch, when he realized the last remaining seats were on the couch with Wolverine, when he realized the only expected persons not in attendance were Rogue… and Bobby. 

Gambit had been the one to invite Bobby. And though he was actually pushing for Bobby to be brought along when they left again, he really didn't want Rogue getting cozy on the couch between Bobby and Wolverine. Everything that he had witnessed between them still stung, so he took care of the discomforting possibility of the seating arrangements by taking up a seat on the couch. Now there was only a half chance that Rogue would sit on the couch as well. And if she did, well, Gambit would be there too.

Is dat y' Onze? Or is dat Remy's own thoughts and feelings? He half projected it. He was feeling hypocritical over his jealousy, considering his own indiscretions, and almost liked the idea of having Eleven to put the blame on. When he didn't get the expected giggle or jaunt from Eleven, Gambit gave a mental shrug and thought, _Guess y' busy bugging someone else._

As for Wolverine's attending the meeting… Gambit had known that he would be attending; Gambit didn't like it, he'd argued against it, but Storm reminded him that Wolverine would be the only person they would keep any contact with while they were out chasing down the diaries. Just like before [1].

"…to agree that Rogue deserves to be involved," Neal was saying. "They were her foster parents."

"Heh," Logan huffed with a smirk, "I'd like to see you keep her from goin'. If you don't take her with you she'll just go off on her own."

"Non, homme, I'll go wit' her," Gambit smirked, "Or follow her. Be a nice view either way."

"Remy," Storm warned, trying to maintain the seriousness of the meeting_. He must be really bothered by all that's been going on lately._ That was usually the case when he cracked inappropriate jokes like that. Something else was going on, something he was concealing from his fellow team members. _At least he isn't as bad about the jokester antics as Bobby. Bobby, Rogue, and Gambit on this trip... It's exhausting just thinking about it._

Then Neal said, "Hey, you think there's a connection between the diaries and what's going on with Rogue?"

Everybody just stared at Neal like he'd grown a second head. 

"What?" Neal looked defensively at the varying surprised and dawning expressions on everyone's faces. "It's not that absurd of an idea," he said, misinterpreting their reaction. When still no one responded, he began to sulk, "It was just an idea."

"It makes sense," Logan said, eyeing Storm.

"Wonder why we didn't think of that before," Bishop grumbled.

"I have to admit that I had my suspicions that the diaries involved Rogue," Storm said, her brow furrowing in contemplation, "But I do not understand why I did not consider this particular connection myself. I am the most well versed in the diaries thus far."

"Don't feel bad, Stormy," Gambit said with a wry grin, "I don' t'ink it be y' fault. Onze's real good wit' dem catches. Gambit t'ink it's a good bet dat Onze's been messing wit' all o' us." 

Gambit's gaze flickered to Wolverine for just a moment. Wolverine caught it and gave a slight nod of agreement. There was a touch of annoyance in Wolverine's nod. Sure he'd agreed, he'd consented. But still, he and Rogue had nevertheless been manipulated by Eleven. 

Gambit continued, "Onze may not always be subtle, but she can be when she wants to be."

"That doesn't explain why Sage has not thought of it, Gambit," Bishop countered. "Rogue has never absorbed Sage so there is no catch to manipulate her with."

"Why do you think I didn't think of it?"

All eyes moved to Sage.

"Why y' not bring it up, den?" Gambit asked with incredulity.

"The topic had not been broached," Sage stated simply. There was no defense in her tone, no eagerness either. It was flat and even. "You have been discussing the reasons not to include her and I was considering all of your arguments for the case. And, I might add, they are all sound." Sage bounced the foot of her crossed over leg, picking off the arguments with each bounce, "Rogue is unstable right now. Mentally and physically. Even with Wolverine's healing factor she has had need of medical attention in the last week. There will not be any likely access to a medical facility that will be prepared to treat her if she were to need one again. Hank will not be joining us so that puts Rogue's well being at an undeniable risk." 

She paused to let that sink in a moment.

Wolverine took advantage of the pause to mention something he'd been meaning to bring up since before he left the mansion. With a grim face, he said, "I smelled Rogue's blood this morning."

"What?" Gambit bolted upright. "And y' just now t'ought to mention dat?"

"Take it easy, Gumbo, I checked it out." Wolverine said. "She's fine. It wasn't fresh. I listened from outside her door for her heart rate and her breathing and they were fairly normal. They were only heightened like she was having a bad dream or something. Whatever it was, she'd healed it."

Remy thought of the dream that Eleven had made him witness. He'd considered mentioning it to the others, but decided that he should leave it to Rogue. It was her memories, after all. And they were not something a person wanted to see his loved one go through. It had been a torture for him, in many ways, close to being as equal a torture as it had been for her. But, the part at the end? The part when they floated in what felt like their own universe, when she didn't flinch from his touch, when she snuggled close to him? That brought a smile to his face.

Then he remembered what had caused the dream to come to mind_. Rogue was bleeding for real… Dat not a good sign… Qu'est-ce que psychosomatic?_ For some reason Gambit didn't think it was that simple, that ordinary—not that psychosomatic injuries were that run of the mill. It had to be more. _Qu'est-ce que Onze? …Somet'ing else…?_ It wasn't even the first time it had happened.

"…as well as another evolution of her powers," Sage was saying. 

Gambit returned from his thoughts to hear that Sage had continued listing off the strikes against Rogue that they had already debated. 

"It is necessary for Hank to help her through this, but can we afford to wait for him to draw his conclusions? There is no telling how long Hank's research will take, even with my help. And it is most definitely not expedient for me to continue devoting so much of my time on the research while we travel. Moreover, there is reasonable doubt to suggest that this may not be the end of the evolution of her powers." 

Sage almost brought up what she had discussed with Xavier and Hank about the Core and the additional 'latent' powers, but decided to hold that back until she had done her own independent research into that. For some reason, she didn't think Xavier was a very biased source on that topic. He'd been holding onto his theories for quite some time and she did not think he'd released them all to her—or Hank for that matter—yesterday, after the danger room tests. 

"It was difficult enough as it was when she was trying to deal with the powers randomly surfacing," Sage again continued. "This next step, though unlikely related to Z'Cann's initiated changes in her powers, is even more volatile and unstable. If there is another one, it is likely to be even more so. I do not want her begging me to release another switch [2]. It isn't safe, especially since she is so unstable. For all I know, my actions may have set off what is occurring now. I highly doubt it, but nothing is impossible at this stage. 

"Then there are the personas to contend with. So far there's Eleven and Nineteen, both of which are aggressive to say the least. Will there be more? I think it's likely. There are several incidents in Rogue's past that could warrant more representatives."

She looked around the room. Even Gambit was beginning to look as though he'd decided against Rogue's continued involvement.

"I could go on," Sage offered in her even tone.

"Don't t'ink dat be necessary, Sage," Gambit said, slumping slightly as he leaned back against the couch again. He looked as though he personally felt the weight of all her points against Rogue resting on his own shoulders as though they were his problems. 

Well, if it was Rogue, then it was Gambit too.

****

~~~~~~~~~~~

"I am not asking you to believe in me. Boy, I think you're confused. I'm not Persephone. Foam can be dangerous with tape across my mouth. These things I do I never asked you how…" (Pandora's Aquarium --by Tori Amos)

Xavier was questioning Beast's success with his research on the collars via telepathy.

__

"The collars specifically promote certain aspects of Rogue's powers," Hank said, then checked his notes before continuing, _"and her shielding too, it seems. I estimate the purpose is to draw those aspects out, strengthening them. Though that wouldn't help put her in his control. I would venture to say that making her stronger would do the opposite, actually." _

"I agree with that assessment, Hank," Xavier said. _"But if that is the case, then the collars must do more than just that."_

"They also monitor and transmit data, Professor. It's likely he knows as much as we do now."

"That is disconcerting, Hank," Xavier said. _"Does it just monitor or does it interact?"_

"Interact, I'm afraid. With one in particular."

"Eleven, I presume."

"Yes, Professor."

"Eleven has access to the catches, right? Does this give Essex access to them?"

"I'm not sure, but it is highly possible. I could run some tests?"

"Do that, Hank. I'll check up on your progress later."

****

~~~~~~~~~~~

"Pandora. Pandora's aquarium. She dives for shells with her nautical nuns and thoughts you thought you'd never tell…" (Pandora's Aquarium –by Tori Amos)

****

Giggle. It had a slightly wilder edge to it than usual.

**__**

Let's see… Catches… Remy, Jean, Scott, Logan, Storm, Bishop, Bobby-- 

Sigh.

**__**

--Warren, Kurt, Kitty, Mystique, Avalanche, Blob, Juggernaut, Toad-who cares, Magneto, Havoc—is he still alive somewhere—Xavier, Hank, Emma—sort of— Sabretooth, dead, Phalanx—that could be interesting—Irene, human, She-Hulk, human, human, who cares, who cares again, dead, human, again, Thor, Wanda, Pietro, Vision, Jubilee, human, ugh who cares, dead, dead, dead, dead, human, Bella Donna, Cassandra, Dazzler, Longshot, Beyonder, Mephistopheles, Gladiator… Gawd, this could go on foh days [3]**_._**

****

Giggle. It was a little maddening.

"_Would ya stop with all that gigglin'. Ya tryin' ta drive meh nuts or something?_"

****

~~~~~~~~~~~

"...With your E's and your ease and I do one more. Need a lip gloss boost…" (iieee  --by Tori Amos)

****

"Emma-ma-ma-ma… We-e-e-e need-d-d-d your-r-r-r help-lp-lp-lp," said four voices.

Emma's ghost turned to see four figures step from the deep shadows. They only moved forward enough for Emma's ghost to see their silhouettes and a hint of what covered them. Fine mesh webbing draped them like tattered shrouds. Their faces were covered, but their bulk and their curves told her they weren't figures of Rogue. 

**__**

"Rogue-gue-gue-gue needs-s-s-s your-r-r-r help-p-p-p."

Emma's ghost raised an eyebrow as if to say 'you've got to be kidding me.'

**__**

"IT-T-T-T brought-ought-ought-ought you-ou-ou-ou so-o-o-o you-ou-ou-ou could-d-d-d help-lp-lp-lp."

__

"Let me guess," Emma's ghost said, _"Union?"_

**__**

"Eleven's-vens-vens-vens lying-ing-ing-ing."

****

~~~~~~~~~~~

"...And thoughts you thought you'd never tell. Line me up in single file with all your grievances. Stare, but I can taste you're still alive below the waste. Ripples come and ripples go and ripple back to me …The Lord of The Flies was diagnosed as sound. " (Pandora's Aquarium –by Tori Amos)

"…but you do think that Rogue's current circumstances have something to do with the diaries, yes?" Storm asked Sage.

"It does make sense," Sage said with a hint of sarcasm. "Think about it. Rogue was nobody. A backwoods runaway nobody. And Mystique's definitely not the type to take in strays. Mystique tossed one of her kids over a cliff to save her own hide. She gave another one up for adoption, then shot him point-blank when he got a little too big for his britches. With those two things in mind, I would propose that it's safe to assume that Mystique is not exactly the motherly type. Yet, she sought out Rogue before her powers manifested. She trained Rogue in espionage, covert operations, and combat fighting. Remember? She was trained well enough to beat the X-Men all by herself, and this was before she begged Xavier for help with her powers. She was only seventeen when she joined the X-Men. And when she did, she completely turned her back on what Mystique had been training her for. No doubt, that training included thievery, arms, probably as a sniper too, and intelligence networks and strategy."

Sage paused then and took in the entire group, "Have any of you ever inquired into exactly what skills she mastered while under Mystique's tutelage?"

Even Storm had a sheepish edge to her blank response. None of them had ever asked about it. They had watched Rogue closely until she'd finally grown on them, but that growing-on-them had included not one display of the skills that Mystique had ingrained in her. 

"Are you suggesting she's hid these things from the X-Men all this time?" Bishop asked, his anger rising. 

There had been rumors about Rogue in Bishop's time, unpleasant things, but he had never considered her for a possible traitor. In his time, she had been remembered as having been completely accepted by the X-men. They had considered her one of their most powerful and loyal members. More than once, she had lead offshoot teams. But all of these things were in Bishop's own past and it was unpredictable as to whether any of it would come true in this time. The knowledge of these events that he had grown up learning was part of poorly documented history to him. It was very possible that parts of these records were missing things or purposely misdirecting… especially since most of the ones he'd read were made accessible to him by LeBeau, the Witness.

Storm spoke up for Rogue that time, "If she has, in fact, purposefully concealed these skills from us, we would have to accept some of the blame for it as well. We did not make things easy on Rogue when she first joined."

Wolverine shifted in his seat as he remembered how he had distrusted Rogue when she first joined, only to be proven wrong by her nearly sacrificing her own life to save his life and Mariko's life from a shot from Viper's weapon. The weapon had been designed to take out Wolverine, to outdo his healing factor. Rogue's invulnerability held out against the energy weapon at first, but Viper kept firing, and eventually Rogue fell. Wolverine kissed her to transfer his healing factor to her. He'd gambled that his healing factor, combined with her invulnerability would be enough to save her. It was… but barely. Rogue didn't recover very quickly. 

From that day on, Wolverine had trusted her.

"Remy know what dat feel like. Y' keep de scarier t'ings locked inside so dey don't kick y' out. But y' always hoping y'll get de chance to release dem. T'ings like dose be a part of y', like riding a bike. Y' don't just forget. And every once in a while y' itch to use dem."

Storm eyed her friend with compassion. "That does make sense, Remy," she said, then turned her attention back to Sage to encourage her to continue with her assessment. "So, we all admit that Rogue was trained by Mystique to aid her in her terrorist campaigns."

"Very well trained, I would say. To what extent, I can't say without seeing her perform, of course. But, she was with Mystique for several years. She was Mystique's prize possession, her secret weapon against the X-Men and anti-mutant factions within the government. You may know her as the fiery, short-tempered, impulsive, brash—"

"We get de point, Sage," Remy said, cutting off her soon becoming less and less positive assessment of Rogue's personality.

Sage glared at him momentarily for interrupting her, then continued, "As I was saying… as a scrapper with compassion, heart and strength in near equal amounts. But all of you don't view her as particularly intelligent. Not that you see her as dumb by any means. But you let her accent and her rashness cloud your opinion of her intelligence. She may not be on a par with Xavier's or even Hank, but I would say she is much more intelligent than any of you believe she is. If she was not, if she could not have survived the training that Mystique had been giving her... I seriously doubt Mystique would have continued training her if Rogue did not excel in it. Mystique would not have fought so hard to retrieve her from Xavier after Rogue had run away."

"Rogue has often spoke of their having a dysfunctional, but oddly caring relationship," Storm offered. "She views Mystique as her mother and Mystique sees Rogue has her daughter."

"A mot'er dat has a knife made of adamantium just to kill her daughter with," Gambit spat out.

"But she knew Rogue would survive," Wolverine said. Gambit glared at him, but Wolverine brushed it off, saying, "I ain't faulting yer point, Gumbo, but that conversation you and Storm had with Mystique when you were planning on killing her in the hospital was in the diary Kitty had, just like Mystique said it was. All I'm saying is that she knew Rogue would live."

"He is correct, Remy," Storm said, "I have read those pages myself."

"I'm not following you guys, what does this have to do with what the diaries are about?" Neal asked.

"Seems to me, maybe Mystique and Irene had another motive for taking Rogue in," Wolverine said, "Something they saw in the diaries, maybe? Is that what yer saying, Sage?" 

"It is a logical theory," Storm said.

"But one that is not supported by the diaries we now possess," Bishop reminded them. "We have no proof to back this up."

"True, but it—"

"Uh, Stormy, Gambit hate to interrupt, but we may have a bit of dat proof y' need," Gambit said from behind a curtain of his red-brown bangs.

"What do ya know, Gumbo?" Wolverine asked. His voice showed the stirrings of his anger. If Gambit knew something, he could've prevented all their debating and offered it up at the beginning. The fact that Gambit hadn't brought it up only made him suspicious of the information… and how the information was discovered.

"Dere's a letter from Irene to Rogue," Gambit said and paused waiting for questions to burst at him. They didn't come, so he continued, "It talks about t'ings dat seem real similar to what's going on wit' Rogue now… Vargas sent it to her."

Gambit again expected them to explode into accusations and admonishments with that last sentence, but they all stayed quiet… as if they were waiting for something.

Finally, Neal said, "Well, do you have it?"

"Non," Gambit said and they all released expressions of annoyance, so Gambit explained. "It's in her room."

"So, we'll just ask her to bring it with her," Bishop said matter-of-factly.

Gambit frowned, "We can't." 

Logan chuckled. He just knew it. There had to be a reason Gambit hadn't offered that up before then. 

Gambit glowered at him, but it wasn't hateful. It was sort of a 'yeah y' caught me so stuff it already' sort of glower. He added the admission right after the glower, "She don't know I read it."

Logan broke out in laughter, "You broke into her room didn't you, Gumbo. She's gonna tan yer hide when she finds out. If she doesn't know already. She's got my senses, remember?"

Gambit responded with bitter sarcasm, saying, "Ha-ha, Logan, laugh it up." He hardened again then, not so dangerously as before with Bishop. It was to a much lesser degree. Still, the change was there nonetheless. "It was during y'r patrol last night," he said. "Gambit saw y' pacing under her window. Mais, y' never sensed me on de roof outside her window, did y'?"

"Will she bring the letter voluntarily, Gambit," Storm said, breaking through their quite petty duel.

"Don't know, Stormy. Bobby knows about it, t'ough. He'd be y' best bet in bringing it up."

"Guess it's a good thing you invited him, then, isn't it?" Storm said with an appreciative smile for her close friend. He really did have a good idea when he suggested bringing Bobby along to keep Rogue more level headed.

****

~~~~~~~~~~~

"...Is it your's sweet saliva with your E's and your ease and I do one more. I know we're dying and there's no sign of a parachute. We scream in cathedrals. Why can't it be beautiful? Why does there gotta be a sacrifice? Just say yes…" (iieee  --by Tori Amos)

**__**

"Eleven's-vens-vens-vens lying-ing-ing-ing," they said with more urgency when Emma's ghost hadn't responded right away. 

Emma's ghost had been pondering that weighty statement, but when the shrouded group had repeated it she gave them an annoyed 'I heard you' glare.

Finally, Emma's ghost asked, _"Union will hurt Rogue?"_

**__**

"No-o-o-o." A warm glow undulated from them, lifting the webbed shrouds an inch or so outward of them. It was as though the glow was a physical thing, as though it had engorged their bodies, giving the webbed shrouds more mass to cover. The glow broke through the spaces between the web strands like sunlight breaking between layered clouds. **_"Union-ion-ion-ion will-ill-ill-ill help-lp-lp-lp." _**

Emma took the theatrics as them taking offense at her suggestion. She was right_. Oh well. They'll just have to live with it._

"Eleven-ven-ven-ven isn't-nt-nt-nt Eleven-ven-ven-ven."

There went that eyebrow of hers again._ "Then who is she?"_

The light faded back like clouds shifting, keeping the sun from shining though. The shrouds returned to their original covering as though the things they covered had been drained, shrunken. Their voices were sad when they said, **_"We-e-e-e don't-nt-nt-nt know-ow-ow-ow. IT-T-T-T won't-nt-nt-nt tell-ell-ell-ell us-s-s-s."_**

****

~~~~~~~~~~~

"..Moving forward using all my breath. Making love to you was never second best. I saw the world crashing all around your face, never really knowing it was always mesh and lace…" (I Melt With You --by Modern English)

Bobby couldn't get the dream he'd had the night before out of his head. 

Right then, he was in the danger room, hooked up to a bunch of those remote sensors that Hank had used on Rogue and Logan the day before. He was running simulations with his powers with and without wearing the collars given them by Sinister. Hank had explained the tests to him, and some part of Bobby's brain had listened, had heard, had cared, had understood. But that part of his brain was way in the back of his mind while most of his thoughts were consumed with the replaying of the dream, that wonderful dream from the night before.

In the dream, he was in an icy wonderland. Snow covered the ground in a velvety blanket. He was in a small forest, or maybe orchard, it was hard to determine which. It was grand in size, but the trees were barely two times his height. The spiny trees were iced as though they were really ice sculptures. There was a spindly iced dome overhead. Its surface was fractured, or rather it was like it was made up of an intricate, utterly random, lace design, with large holes between the delicate icy twines of silk. Moonlight glinted off all the icy surfaces around him like diamonds were imbedded everywhere.

As he wandered happily through the frozen wonderland, his breath escaped him without the puffy clouds that most people got.

"Icicle, Icicle, where are you going…[4]" the whispered words licked his ears as they cut through the brisk air. He spun around, but found nobody there. 

The whispers continued, "Icicle, Icicle, where are you going…" [4]

He continued wandering, but now it was a game, he was looking for the owner of that sweet voice that was taunting him. 

"I have a hiding place when spring marches in…" [4]

He moved around one tree, sure she was there… but wasn't. 

"Will you keep watch for me…" [4]

He saw a flash of light and a hint of the color of flesh move behind the tree up ahead. There was a snow bank just beyond it. He sneaked up to it.

"I hear them calling…" [4]

He peaked around the tree. 

"Gonna lay down…" [4]

He saw her there, on the snow bank, lying down on it… in it. The flurries were soft enough, fresh enough, that they covered over her slightly as she lied down. 

"Gonna lay down…" [4]

He joined her on the bank by her side.

He marveled at how the stripe in her hair blended so smoothly into the snow. It was as though she were a creature of it, like him. And how the auburn was almost garnet in color against all that white. It was breathtakingly beautiful to him. Her skin, what he could see of it on her face and neck and a small portion of her chest that gave him just the slightest hint of her cleavage, reminded him of flushed peaches. The rest of her was covered in a gauze-like gown of the finest gossamer silk. It was white like the snow and the stripe in her hair. It had silver embroidery in as intricate and delicate a pattern as the dome above them. Diamonds were sewn into the pattern so that they twinkled with her emerald eyes and glinted like the moonlight off their icy world. And her hands, her hands were covered in lace gloves made of ice so finely spun that the ice was the pliable threading of the silk. He could feel the heat of her hand through that thin mesh as she raised it to his cheek.

The dichotomy of her heat under that icy glove pressed to his skin, well, he was undone. He leaned into her, over her.

"Bobby." She breathed his name more than whispered it. 

He couldn't stand it any more. He had to, he just had to kiss her again. He had enough time to see her eyes flutter contentedly closed as he brought his lips to hers. If he were to die, what a way to go.

But he didn't die. She didn't drain him. It was a dream, after all.

But she did kiss him back. She did pull him on top of her. And—_Oh God!_—the rest of her was like her gloves. The dress was thin and cold and he could feel the heat of her beneath it, beneath him. The kiss deepened as his and her body heat continued to rise. He ate at her lip, tried to drink her down, make her part of him, make her his, like he was hers, if she would only have him. But she _was_ having him, having him in this dream, his dream. He could do what he wanted in his dream, have _her_ do what he wanted in his dream.

Their heat melted away their icy clothing and soon it was just his heat against her heat, his skin against her skin, caressing, kissing, stroking, loving, loving, loving, surrounded only by the icy grace of his icy wonderland.

"Okay, we're done, Bobby…" Hank said from the control booth, breaking Bobby's reverie. 

"What? Oh, that's all?" Bobby said as he blinked back to the realization of where he was and what he'd just been doing. Before him stood a life size ice sculpture of a man and a woman embracing in the throws of passion. They rose up from what was likely an ocean wave. The icy wave roiled and tumbled sea foam around their feet and up to almost their knees. Their bodies were pressed together from that point, up until their waists. The only thing that defined them as separate beings in that lower portion was an indented seem. At their waists they pulled apart from each other just enough so that their lips could connect in a deep kiss. They held each other tightly together. One of her arms grasped the back of his head. Her fingers laced through his hair. Her other arm clutched low on his back. Along her back one of his arms angled up from her waist to her shoulders. His other arm angled downward, wrapped around her hip, hugging her to him there.

Hank just then looked down from his perch in front of the computers in the observation booth and saw Bobby's creation first hand. The sculpture was large enough, the room was lit well enough, and the statue was accurate enough that Hank saw, without a single doubt, that it was Bobby and Rogue in that icy embrace. And Bobby was staring at it like a treasured memory.

Hank cleared his throat, over the intercom, getting Bobby's attention. "It's quite remarkable Bobby, but I wouldn't keep it around long enough for Gambit to see. Way things have been lately and all." 

"I'll stop the world and melt with you. I've seen some changes and its getting better all the time. There's nothing you and I won't do. I'll stop the world and melt with you. The future's open wide…" (I Melt With You –by Modern English)

Bobby stared at his creation for a moment longer, adding it to his treasure box of memories along with the dream. Then he closed his eyes, as if in pain, almost, and flicked the fingers of one hand at the ice sculpture. It melted into a pool of water instantly, tumbling, like a disembodied waterfall, to the danger room floor. Seconds later, the water dissipated into the air, leaving no trace that it had ever been there [5].

"I know she's playing poker with the rest of the stragglers, calling for my soul at the corners of the world. I know she's playing poker and if your friends don't come back to you. And you know this is madness, a lilac mess in your prom dress, and you say, 'I guess, I'm an underwater thing.'" (Liquid Diamonds –by Tori Amos)

****

Giggle. It was a little less maddening. It was actually a little bit nostalgic and sweet.

"_Ah heard ya."_

**__**

"Really? Ah wouldn't have guessed." That was most certainly sarcastic.

****

~~~~~~~~~~~

"...And thoughts you thought you'd never tell. Line me up in single file with all your grievances. Stare, but I can taste you're still alive below the waste. Ripples come and ripples go and ripple back to me ...The Lord of The Flies was diagnosed as sound. " (Pandora's Aquarium –by Tori Amos)

"So we are decided, then," Storm said, eyeing the group with a serious nod.

"Yeah," Neal said.

"Yes," agreed Sage.

"Oui." Obviously, that was Gambit.

Logan nodded.

"In my time—" Bishop began, but was quickly cut off.

"We don't wan't to hear anymore about what happened in y' time, Pup."

"Remy…" Storm chided gently.

"Fine, I will leave it out of this decision, but it must be addressed at some point," Bishop admonished. "It bears relevance to the diaries, perhaps, and to Rogue's… condition assuredly."

"But do you think it will affect the decision we are agreeing to right now?" Storm asked Bishop.

Bishop looked over everyone in the room. He knew they had made their decision already and Storm was just making sure that they all agreed with the final decision. He sighed, "No, I don't think it will change anyone's opinion."

"So, do you agree with this decision?" Storm asked.

"Yes," Bishop grumbled.

"Fine, I'll contact Rogue and tell her to join the meeting. We'll inform her of our decision when she gets here." Storm reached a hand up to her communicator, but didn't get a chance to activate it. 

"_Ah'm comin'!"_ Rogue telepathically screeched to everyone in the room. 

Everyone held their heads, bracing against their rising headaches. Sage was just a little more well-mannered about it than the others. Gambit actually laughed while he held his head, and proudly said, "Dat's my Roguey."

"_Can't a girl shower in peace?"_ Rogue added, though a lot less severely than her first outburst. 

They all released their heads, one by one, as the pain from her first telepathic invasion faded.

"_Remy could come back dere and help y' out if y' want._" Gambit teased as he gave Rogue a mental version of his cocky devil-may-care grin. He felt that it actually lightened her mood a little. But just a little. Still, it made him a little happier.

"_Ah think Ah can handle it, Remy. All these powers have to be good for something, ya know._"

Gambled chuckled in response. He felt her sigh, and felt that she was glad that he hadn't continued the banter. Even that was too much for her right then. That made him frown and smile all at once. 

"Rogue's in a mood, not so much bad, but it's quite a mood," Gambit said to the assembled group. He grinned winningly, "Just t'ought Gambit should warn y'." 

"Do you think she heard what we were talking about?" Neal asked.

Logan chuckled as he considered that and Gambit's warning. "We'll know soon enough," he said.

****

~~~~~~~~~~~

"...Just say yes, you little arsonist. You're so sure you can save every hair on my chest. Just say yes with your E's and your ease…" (iieee –by Tori Amos)

The four web-shrouded figures parted in half, moving in an echoing fashion that matched their echoing voices. From between them, came a small figure that was obviously not a ghost like Emma herself, nor like any of the more solid web-shrouded figures. 

It was a little girl. She was a scrawny, skinny thing with tiny budding breasts and slightly elongated limbs. She was obviously just at the beginning of a growth spurt, at the beginning of puberty. 

She wore baggy denim cut-offs and a boy's white under-tank that was thin enough, worn enough, to have necessitated her wearing a training bra. Yet, there was a tenacity, an ornery set to her shoulders, and a speculating and goading gleam to her eyes that dared everyone to even have the audacity to mention the words 'training bra' to her. There was also a surety in her that she could and would back it up. Her unkempt hair was tied back in a crooked, half-escaping ponytail [6]. 

Emma's ghost didn't even need to see the signature white stripe to know for sure that the figure was a child Rogue. 

The child Rogue was holding her arms out, hands balled into stubborn fists in a protective manner to block the eager figure that was directly behind her. This second figure wasn't very visible because the child Rogue was directly in front of him. He—the second figure was definitely a he—was about half a head taller than the child Rogue. Emma's ghost could make out his mussed, short, sun-kissed blond hair, the peppermint glee in his cornflower blue eyes, and the speckling of sandy freckles on his cheeks that confirmed he was none other than the infamous little Cody. 

The duo was followed by one more figure, one that also wore a webbed shroud. But his shroud didn't cover his face. It was finer, and less shroud-like. It had a gallant eighteenth century cloak appeal to it. It gave him the demeanor of a guardian. The moment his face moved out of the shadows, Emma's ghost understood the reason for his more liberal attire. There was no mistaking it. This final figure was Cody when his coma had rescinded for the final slumber of death.

He was more than a foot and a half taller than the duo. He had to be around 5'10". The freckles were gone. He had a duller version of the sun kissed blond hair, and it was a little longer, though not by much. The cornflower blue eyes had retained that peppermint glee, but they had a paternal moderation to them as well.

The adult Cody put a fatherly hand on each of the duo's shoulder, split them apart and stepped up between them. The movement gave Emma's ghost a completed view of both the child Cody and the adult Cody. The adult Cody was as much as she had expected from what she had already seen of him behind the duo. The child Cody, though, was not exactly what she was expecting. She hadn't even a real picture in her imagination to compare him to. He was wearing dirty, untied tennis shoes, worn jeans with grass stains on the knees, and a surprisingly clean blue tee-shirt that was two shades deeper blue than his eyes. Unlike like the child Rogue or the web-shrouded figures, the child Cody's image was fainter and slightly transparent. He was like Emma was. He was a ghost. 

This was the Cody that had initiated a feisty child Rogue's first kiss. The kiss that triggered Rogue's absorption powers. And that meant that…

**__**

"This is Eleven," Adult Cody proudly exclaimed independently of the other shrouded figures. He was beaming as he looked down at the obstinate child Rogue. 

"...In this chapel, little chapel of love, can't we get a little grace and some elegance…" (iieee –by Tori Amos)

****

~~~~~~~~~~~

"...And thoughts you thought you'd never tell. I am not asking you to believe in me. Boy, I think you're confused, I'm not Persephone. Foam can be dangerous with tape across my mouth. These things you do, I never asked you how. Line me up in single file with all your grievances. Stare, but I can taste you're still above the waste. Ripples come and ripples go and ripple back to me…" (Pandora's Aquarium –by Tori Amos)

"We have two leads for two more possible locations of the diaries," Storm looked over at Rogue, who was sitting in the chair at the table that Gambit had sat in at the beginning of the meeting. That left Bobby the seat between Gambit and Wolverine. Gambit was dealing with it okay; he really wasn't being quite that petty about it. 

After a long pause, and a conscious glance to Rogue, Storm announced, "One location is in Caldecott County." 

Several eyes turned to Rogue, who surprisingly didn't look perturbed by the announcement. The others seemed more affected by the prospect of one of the books being in Rogue's hometown than she did. Their affectations were to be expected, especially considering their conversation about whether or not the books had anything major to do with Rogue. Storm assumed Rogue was just closing herself off. She did that a lot, when things got too personal for her and a mess of team members were surrounding her. 

Storm decided to continue on before any of the others decided to start in on Rogue. "And the second location is in Cairo, though that one is from a rather unreliable source. Still, it may be worth checking out."

Everyone nodded to that. Most of them knew that, in many ways, the thought of going to Cairo was just as personal for Storm as the thought of going to Caldecott was for Rogue. It took some of the pressure off Rogue, but not all of it. Sure, Storm was pictured in one of the diaries as being in an all out sword fight with Vargas, but Rogue was the second closest person to the writer of the diaries—next to Mystique, of course. And even if they discounted their discussion earlier, Rogue had already been involved in more than one diary in more than one significant way. Rogue's battling and then re-imprisoning the Shadow King after Psylocke's death was in the diary that Rogue had gotten from Gateway. Secondly, Destiny had specifically left one diary for Rogue in a package placed for her in the house that Destiny had left for Rogue. The fact that Vargas had already stolen that diary did little to discount the fact that Destiny had intended it for Rogue. For all they knew, the diaries Vargas possessed actually showed Rogue receiving the one Destiny had intended for her and had gone ahead of them to retrieve it.

Speaking of Vargas, there was also that little fact that he'd chosen Rogue for his first kill, yet ended up getting Psylocke. Vargas still had a mad-on for Rogue as his primary target [7]. That alone spoke volumes about Rogue's involvement. Then, there was the letter, the mysterious letter that Vargas had so graciously mailed to Rogue, that Rogue had shared with Bobby, and that Gambit had read without Rogue's knowledge. Storm and the others needed to see the letter themselves, they just hadn't found a way to lead Bobby or, if they were lucky enough, Rogue herself, to bring it up and offer to let them see it.

Neal—newbie Neal—whom Rogue would never suspect of being manipulative, solved all their problems by innocently asking, "Rogue, do you think the possible diary in Caldecott could be a copy of the one Destiny meant for you to get at the house she willed to you? I mean, maybe she foresaw Vargas stealing the one at the house?"

Rogue thought about it a moment, "Could be, but Ah doubt it. Far as we know, she didn't take the chance of making any copies. Didn't want to give them any more chances of falling into the wrong hands, ya know?"

"As if being in Mystique's hands wasn't bad enough," Wolverine grumbled.

Bobby cocked his head back to look over the back of the couch to eye Rogue as he asked her, "What about the letter?"

The others feigned surprise quite well, but not well enough to fool someone with Emma's telepathic powers still turned on. The multitudes of penetrating thoughts were down to a nearly dull roar, but the thoughts of the fairly close-knit-group of the X-Treme team were standing out from the rest. Like earlier, those closest to her in some way or another were getting past the rest of the static noise of the thousands of other thoughts for her to hear more clearly. She was just glad that only a few thoughts stood out sporadically, randomly, that the rest were more or less static, white noise. 

But the moment Bobby said the word 'letter', all the people in the room, in one version or another, though 'oh yeah, tell us about the letter!' They were loud enough, that Rogue had no choice but to hear them. 

Gambit, however had a thought that distinctly sounded like a mental guilty gulp.

Rogue looked directly at Gambit, who crossed his arms across his chest, rested one ankle on the opposite knee and pointedly faced away from her. He also shielded his guilt for being caught—not his guilt for checking up on her because he was worried about her—he would never feel guilty over doing that—behind a curtain of his red-brown hair. 

Abruptly, Rogue stood, trying to will him to face her, which he wouldn't, and said, "Ya snooped through my things, didn't ya, ya swamp rat—" 

**__**

"He did what!?" Impostor Eleven exclaimed.

**__**

"That damned ssscoundrelll," Nineteen hissed from her safe haven in her cherry tree orchard, Well, her safe haven from most anything other than Impostor Eleven it seemed. 

"—That's why Ah smelled ya all over my room last night." Rogue continued, ignoring Nineteen and the entity Rogue still thought was Eleven. "And to think, Ah thought ya'd stopped by to say goodnight, or something innocent like that. Fooled me, didn't ya? What the hell were ya thinking, huh?" 

Surprisingly, Bobby came to Gambit's defense. "He was worried Rogue, we're all worried…" Bobby then turned a glower on Gambit and added through grinding his teeth, "Weren't you, Gambit?"

Gambit's response was completely genuine when he said, "More den y' can possibly know, homme." 

Rogue sat back down, seemingly beginning to calm down a bit. Still, she narrowed her eyes on Gambit when she asked, "Did ya peak through the diary they found in Genosha, too?"

Gambit did look at her then, as he said, "Honestly? Non. Mais, not 'cause I didn't want to. Didn't have time. Knew y'd be back any minute."

"Ya swear it, Remy?" She asked, her voice smaller, hinting at being a plea.

Gambit sighed and nodded, then seeing she was still waiting for a verbal answer, said, "Oui, chere. Gambit swear it."

Rogue settled back in her chair and did, indeed, calm down then.

"What's the big deal with that diary anyway?" Neal said, genuinely just curious. Storm and the others feared he'd stepped in it, that he'd raised her anger again by asking about something she obviously felt was personal.

"Don't know," Rogue said not quite matter-of-factly. She sighed, releasing a lot of the tension she'd been holding in since she entered the already in progress meeting. "Ah haven't brought myself to look at it, yet." She looked to Storm, then added, "Could ya give me a few more days alone with it? Ah mean, considering it was in Erik's—" Gambit's ears perked up at her personal reference to Magneto, as did a few others "—possession long enough for him to have had it restored, and considering his bent on world domination thing…" She trailed off, inhaled deeply, then continued, "Ah'm just figuring since he hadn't made any grand attacks on the world since Joseph..." She trailed off again at the mention of that person's name. "Ah thought it wasn't anything important in that kind of way, ya know?"

Of course, it was Logan who said, "Didn't mean he wasn't planning anything from it, or that he hadn't been using it for a while now, darlin'?"

"Ah know, Wolvie… Just…" Rogue said. Her molasses voice regained her signature stubbornness when she asked, "…Just a few more days, okay?"

Storm nodded. "A few days will be fine," she said, then jumped right back onto the subject, "Now about this letter that Bobby—" Rogue smirked at Storm, who smiled ingratiatingly at her, and corrected herself as she continued, "--That Gambit told us about. We think there may be some relevance between it and the diaries." She left the 'and you' unspoken, then asked, politely but unwaveringly, "Could we see it?"

"Yeah, Ah guess so," Rogue said, her mind working over the implications the letters contents could have on the others. The others specifically watched the thoughts subtly undulate across her eyes, for she didn't let them show very much on the rest of her face. They watched her like they were seeing her with new eyes, like they were searching for a glimmer of that stout intelligence that Sage had informed them of earlier. 

Rogue, of course, saw them watching her so closely, and raised an ironic brow. Then she thought at them, _"You're watching me so hard, ya'll are projecting."_

"We are sorry, Rogue," Storm said.

"Will ya'll stop walking on egg shells with me," Rogue said with slight exasperation. "Gawd! It's really starting to get on this gal's nerves?"

Logan chuckled and shared a look with Gambit, who gave his trademark cocky grin.

"What?" Rogue asked, not wanting to hear their thoughts anymore than she already was. 

"Just dat Gambit be rubbing off on y', 's all, chere," Remy said, turning that suave, cocky grin and his come-hither ruby on onyx eyes on her. "Y' just spoke of y'self in de t'ird person, chere."

Logan chuckled again.

"Keep it up, swamp rat…Same goes for ya, Wolvie." Rogue said in mock anger, even as she blushed the littlest bit.

"...And ripple back to me. I am not asking you to believe in me. Boy, I think you're confused, I'm not Persephone. She's in New York somewhere checking her accounts. The Lord of The Flies was diagnosed as Sound." (Pandora's Aquarium –by Tori Amos)

****

~~~~~~~~~~~

"...Can't we get a little grace and some elegance. No, we scream in cathedrals. Why can't it be beautiful? Why does there gotta be a sacrifice..." (iieee –by Tori Amos)

__

"I figured that out, Mr. Obvious," Emma's ghost said to the adult Cody. _"You're as bad as Scott."_

His smile didn't falter, but it changed. It sobered a little. He said,**_ "IT warned us 'bout ya Miss Emma."_** He faced her then and added, **_"And Ah'm not impressed, ma'am."_**

_"Really?" _Emma's sarcasm painfully lengthened the word.

**__**

"Sorry, ma'am, but Ah'm not," he said good-naturedly. The contradiction in his insulting meaning and his polite, mannerly tone needled Emma's ghost. His next statement only made it worse. His eyes sparkled in challenging delight as he said, **_"Now have ya figured out who we are, yet?"_**

She tapped her foot impatiently and said, "_Not the way to get on my good side, bumpkin._"

Adult Cody countered in that same mannerly tone, but maintained the challenging delight in his eyes, **_"Well, if yoah not up to the challenge, Miss Frost…" _**

Emma's ghost didn't know if she wanted to congratulate him on his subtle audacity or spin on her heels and leave them high and dry. Before she could make the decision, though, the other four web-shrouded figures caught her attention. They each reached a hand up to the fine mesh and wiped their faces free of it like the mesh was, well, like it was a web.

She had just enough time to take in each of their identities—to know they weren't ghosts like she was, but that they were as solid as the child Rogue, the real Eleven, and the adult Cody—before they answered the adult Cody's question. They spoke one by one, from left to right.

**__**

"We are"—said the organic metal face—**_"the remains"_**—said the face with the eyes that crackled with magnetic energy and was framed by long white hair—**_"of the catches"_**—said the face with the living flames swirling around it—**_"of the dead"_**—said an elderly face with the blind eyes. 

A sixth web-shrouded figure came out of the depths to stand beside the last speaker of the group. She differed from the first four and from the adult Cody. Like the four, her web-shroud still looked like a shroud. Like Cody, her face was already visible. She had dark purple hair, Asian features, a crimson mark over one eye, and a pink butterfly tattooed across the top half of her face like a Masquerade Ball mask. The wings of the butterfly spanned the width of her face so that her dark eyes were like the mock eyes of a monarch butterfly. The tattoo was a tribute to the whole of her telepathic powers being consumed in imprisoning the Shadow King on the Astral plane.

Her arms escaped through tears in the web shroud. Telekinetic psionic energy roiled off the kitana she held casually in one of her hands. Her mouth was gagged by a scarf made of web strands. It knotted at the back of her head and then trailed off into the depths. Emma's ghost thought it was a good bet that the other end of that gag led to Eleven's impostor.

The gagged Psylocke nodded to the final speaker of the group to signal for Irene to speak for the speechless Psylocke. Irene then asked, **_"Do you understand? Do you agree to help?" _**

****

~~~~~~~~~~~

"...She got you liking mine back, got me takin' it in, getting mine back, lasting mine evil. I'm taking my easel and I'm writing good checks. You sign, 'Prince of Darkness.' Try, 'squire of dimness.' Please don't try to help me with this..." (She's Your Cocaine –by Tori Amos)

The meeting had broken up. Most everyone had left. Gambit was holding the door as they left since he was the only one with the key and was going to be locking up. As Rogue, followed closely by Bobby, came through, Gambit stopped her with a gently placed grasp on her shoulder. She stopped, but she kept her head down, stubbornly facing forward and away from his Diable Blanc eyes. He grasped her chin with a gloved finger and lifted and turned it to him.

They held each other's jeweled gaze for a moment. Ruby on Onyx against Emerald.

"They hate ya, Gambit," Rogue said sadly and pulled her head from his grasp. "The personas that have escaped… They all hate ya."

Bobby stepped right up against Rogue's back then. He looked steadily at Gambit, but there wasn't a challenge in it. Instead, it reflected his friendship for Rogue, his caring for her, his protection of her, and… and a sign that he empathized with Gambit… that he understood the ache of not being with the one you most want.

And Gambit knew, then. He knew that he was in the same boat as Bobby at that moment. It was a grand relief. It meant that Bobby didn't have Rogue, not the way he was dreaming about. They way they were both dreaming about. Gambit didn't have Rogue either—not the way he ached for it. 

Gambit was in her heart, he was sure of that. But, he was also sure that he and Rogue were, again, still, off-again.

The tables had turned once more. At one time it was a green ghost lady inside of Gambit, keeping him from professing his love to Rogue, from sharing his love with Rogue. Now it was Rogue inside herself keeping her from him.

He never wanted to be a ghost inside of her more than right then. Never wanted to give his mortal life away for a kiss, for a brief intimate embrace, just to be inside of her forever. Then, as a complete ghost of himself, like Carol had been, he would battle Eleven and all the other troublemakers for Rogue. He would solve all of her problems for her. 

But, he wouldn't, couldn't do that to her.

He just hoped the fainter ghosts of himself that were already in there from the two times they'd kissed and she'd absorbed him were doing their part to help her. 

****

~~~~~~~~~~~

"Surrender, then start your engines. You'll know quite soon what my mistake was. For those on horseback or dog sled, you turn at the bend in the road. I hear she still grants forgiveness, although, I willingly forgot her. The offering is molasses. And you say, 'I guess I'm an underwater thing.' Guess I can't take it personally. Guess I'm an underwater thing. I'm liquid running…" (Liquid Diamonds –by Tori Amos)

The swoosh of the door opening and closing in the med lab announced Xavier's arrival. Hank didn't bother to look up to acknowledge him. There had been no need to. He'd already known Xavier was there. They'd been conversing via Xavier's telepathy since Xavier left his office.

"You're positive of that," Xavier said, switching from telepathy to actually using his voice.

"See for yourself," Hank said as he pushed back his rolling chair to allow room for Xavier's hover chair [8].

Xavier took his time perusing Hank's findings, he flipped through file after file of all the tests that Hank had performed on the available X-Men that day, Bobby having been the first. "Indeed it is so," Xavier finally said.

"What do you make of it?" Hank asked curiously. He, himself, had dozens of theories, but nothing accurate, nothing absolute.

"I will have to think on it," Xavier said, "Please make these files accessible to my office computer."

"Of course," Hank replied, a little disappointed that Xavier was not going to be staying to confer over his findings right then. 

Xavier must have read his disappointment because after leaving the med lab, he said_, "It is not for lack of interest. Remember, Hank, I have that mission to monitor tonight."_

"I guess I'm an underwater thing. I'm liquid running. There's a sea secret in me. It's plain to see it rising…" (Liquid Diamonds –by Tori Amos)

****

Giggle.

"_Ah swear it, Eleven, soon as Ah find a way to get my hands on ya, Ah'm gonna wring your shimmerin' neck to get ya to stop that God forsaken giggling!_"

****

~~~~~~~~~~~

"If you want me to, boy, I could lie to you. You don't need one of these to let me inside of you. And is it true that devils end up like you, something safe for the picture frame. And is it true that devils end up like you, so tied up you don't know how she came. She's your Cocaine…" (She's Your Cocaine –by Tori Amos)

Again, Remy LeBeau was dressed to the nines in another Armani tux, ready for a night out of divulging in his secrets… without his lady love by his side. This time though, he hadn't meant for her to be with him. Sure he was going to introduce this part of his life to her, little by little, hoping her hatred for her days with Mystique could be quelled by his suave industriousness. But a night like tonight, with a purpose and an assignment and higher-ups, whom he didn't want to know about her and how much she meant to him and how they could use her as a weapon against him if they ever felt the need, or whim. Tonight was business only.

…And still she wouldn't leave his mind.

"...She says control it. Then, she says don't control it. Then, she says you're controlling the way she makes you crawl. She's your Cocaine… " (She's Your Cocaine –by Tori Amos)

Gambit enters the 'members only' restaurant and bypasses the reservations line altogether. An arrogantly raised brow and equally arrogantly disturbed frown sends the Maitre D bustling straight to Gambit. Gambit is in full Guild Regalia mode. It his most sure, his most arrogant, his most aware, his most careful, his most dangerous, his most intelligent, his most sly, his most HIM mode. 

"...You're your favourite stranger…" (She's Your Cocaine –by Tori Amos)

The Maitre D knows him as nothing else, and desperately wishes to avoid grating on the powerful man who always wears his black, black shades inside whether it's day or night. He quickly ushers Gambit to the waiting table.

But tonight, the visage is not much more than a mask.

"...You're your favourite stranger. And we all like to watch. So shimmy once and do it again…" (She's Your Cocaine –by Tori Amos)

And it's work to keep the mask in place. His mind is wandering, keeping out of his grace, running out of his reach. His mind is on her. On Rogue. And on the thing that plagues her and plagues him and, thus, plagues him and her. It's on Eleven. He does not know she's not Eleven, not really… He doesn't know that yet. Nobody does, yet. But, in him the name means nothing. He doesn't equate the plague, ahem, equate Eleven as an unsuspecting girl receiving her first kiss and her first taste of her life long curse, her damnable lack of control. He sees her only as the thing that is hurting Rogue and him both. 

So he fights to keep his mind on this impending private Guild meeting, trying to keep up the mask that keeps them from making a connection to his connection with the outlaw mutant band of heroes, the X-Men. 

He's barely keeping hold of the reigns as his thoughts stray again to Rogue and to Eleven.

"She's your Cocaine, your Exodus laughing, and she knows what your are, so you shimmy once and do it again…" (She's Your Cocaine –by Tori Amos)

****

~~~~~~~~~~~

"I am not your senorita. I don't aim so high. In my heart, I did no crime. If you want inside her well, boy, you better make her raspberry swirl…" (Raspberry Swirl –by Tori Amos)

Impostor Eleven waited until Rogue settled in her room and began trying to clear the webs that had once again been spreading more violently, more frantically throughout her mindscape and body again. Impostor Eleven knew that would be the most likely time that she could attempt something without Rogue's knowing about it. She'd been lucky when she was punishing Nineteen… but that probably had more to do with Rogue's own annoyance with Nineteen for ripping Logan's claws out of Gambit's unsuspecting hands than anything Impostor Eleven had done. Well, that and Rogue trying to keep out all the thoughts that Emma's telepathy was issuing on her. 

**__**

Wondah why Emma's telepathy was the strongest right when Ah was punishin' Nineteen…hmm… Ah'll have ta think 'bout that later… got other plans right now. 

****

Giggle.

Impostor Eleven never even conceived of the idea that Emma's ghost had been witness to her punishment of Nineteen. Had never conceived that it was Emma's ghost's presence that kept that little tete-et-tete from Rogue's awareness.

In exchange for the privacy while Rogue was meditating and cleaning up her mindscape after the X-Treme team meeting, Impostor Eleven actually let Rogue make a little progress in her spring cleaning efforts. Well, it was more to keep Rogue going at it by giving Rogue the feeling that she was actually getting somewhere with her efforts so that Rogue would be preoccupied and less likely to be on the lookout for what Impostor Eleven was up to.

Impostor Eleven fingered the catch she'd selected to play with first, and grinned.

**__**

This is gonna be fun.

Giggle.

Impostor Eleven poured herself into it, imbued herself into it, and felt it come to life.

****

~~~~~~~~~~~

Sinister sat at his console, going over all the wonderful information the collars had been feeding him. After the third time Rogue had put on and taken off the collars, the collars didn't even need to be on her in order to transmit the information to him, they just needed to be within a half-mile vicinity of Rogue. The collars constantly transmitted information to each other, so once one was activated on Rogue specifically the first time, it shared the locating, locking, and bonding information with the other collar. That was the purpose of the minimum of three times for the collars being activated and deactivated on her. It didn't work on anyone else, well, it worked as all slave collars worked on everyone else, but not the bonuses he'd added to it.

The first time Rogue had put it on, it activated the stored bonus programs. The first step of the program was to identify that it was Rogue that had adorned it, which was accomplished when the program was directly activated by her genetic signature. Being inside Rogue's mind that one time had allowed Sinister to get an even more accurate reading of her signature. He didn't know why exactly, but he was the only person who had faded from her mind after being absorbed by her and had retained all memory of being inside of her [9]. That was very helpful in elaborating his plans for Gambit's ladylove. Of course, back then, none of them knew Gambit would fall for Rogue as he did, right? Right? Anyway, once the program turned on, it located a specified aspect of Rogue—Impostor Eleven, of course—

__

I could've told them she wasn't Eleven, Sinister thought._ Not that they would've asked me… Or believed me._

--then it waited for the collar to be deactivated (well, it only had enough energy to perform so many tasks at once). The first time the collar was deactivated after having been used by Rogue, it automatically triggered the program in the second collar.

The second time one of the collars was activated on Rogue, the bonus program locked onto Impostor Eleven and made as many contacts and locks with as many other aspects of Rogue's powers and shielding units as possible. As it did so, it recorded all information it encountered, storing it for when the collar would be deactivated for a second time. Once deactivated, it again triggered the program in the other collar and shared the information with it. By transmitting between the two collars this way, Sinister ensured that three-step activation/deactivation process would be more likely reached in case the X-Men decided to switch between the two collars for caution's sake. Giving them two collars and, thus that option of a security blanket that came with it, it also helped ensure that they would use them. But, granted, considering Rogue's condition at the time, what choice did they have, really?

The third time one of the collars was activated, well, that was the important step, that was the actual beginning to the purpose of the collars. Once activated a third time, it bonded with Impostor Eleven, and most importantly with Rogue's genetic signature. The bonding was a near permanent thing. It needed to be regenerated by occasionally being reactivated on Rogue, since in bonding with Rogue it actually made a pathway to gain energy directly from Rogue, storing it, in order to maintain that bond. The bond itself gave Sinister the means to give Rogue more reasons to necessitate wearing the collar when the bond began to weaken and showed signs of needing to regenerate the bond. It was a complicated program, but so simple in design. All it needed to do was make it through the three steps and then Sinister would control everything from his end because as it was deactivated that special third time and it shared the bonding information with the other collar, the transmission from the collars to Sinister's lab became two-way. It was a two-way transfer that was only accessible on his end.

Perhaps, given enough time, Hank and Xavier could derive a way to access that transmission, but it would not be any time soon. For the time being, Sinister had his own near-sentient monitoring system, all transmitted and analyzed by his advanced technology in his comfy secret lab. 

Sinister was reviewing this transmitted information when some abrupt movement of Magneto's brought his attention to the computer monitor that televised the video feed from Magneto's cell. Magneto had jerked up suddenly in his bunk, knocking his head on the small outcropping on the wall above him. Sinister watched as Magneto's eyes widened in surprise and some other emotion…

__

Pain? …No, not pain… intense pleasure, Sinister thought, and a menacing smile broadened his face. He looked to his monitors, brought up Impostor Eleven's readings as well as Magneto's readings, and saw that his suspicions were correct. _Somebody's having fun, I see…_

****

Giggle.

Yes, Impostor Eleven, was indeed, having a great deal of fun.

****

~~~~~~~~~~~

"Guess I'm an underwater thing. I'm liquid running. There's a sea secret in me. It's plain to see it is rising…" (Liquid Diamonds –by Tori Amos)

Impostor Eleven pulled herself out of Magneto's catch, but didn't release it. She continued toying with him by manipulating his catch, and even better, by using Gambit's empathic abilities, his charm powers, coupled of course with a touch of Jean's telepathy just to make it heady enough. But she remained outside the catch, only allowing herself a faint sense of the delicious torment she was giving Magneto, so that she could—as the saying goes—keep a close eye on Rogue to make sure she wasn't caught in the act, so to speak. 

All of the catches were bundled like monofilament lines before her shimmering cloud form. One of them caught her eye. The catch was glowing with energy, pouring energy into Rogue. That was usually a sure sign that the person the catch belonged to was doing something with her powers.

Impostor Eleven picked up the line, stroked it, identified it, and studied it.

**__**

Well, well, well, pretty little Kitty. Ah wondah what yoah up ta right now? Something Ah might have fun messin' with too?

"...There's a sea secret in me. It's plain to see it rising. But, I must be flowing liquid diamonds calling for my soul at the corners of the world…" (Liquid Diamonds –by Tori Amos)

****

~~~~~~~~~~~

She was doing Xavier a favor, a big favor. She'd left all of this stuff behind when she'd left them. She told Xavier this and he had said he'd understood. 

Then he came calling for her help… again. How many times was this, now? She couldn't even remember. She tried to forget each time, swearing to herself, cursing to him, that it was her last, she was trying to live as normal a life as possible, as normal as her current circumstances would grant her, at least. But she would take what little normalcy she could get, devour it, and savor it for the preciousness it was. 

__

Why couldn't he just accept that?

She sighed, moved past the next corridor and through into the next one. She was inside the outer areas of the complex, the more public areas, places where the tourists were led through while on guided group tours. A few more corridors, a few more locked doors, and she would enter the lowest areas of the Classified Personnel Only. After that came the more difficult areas she would have to bypass, the areas that actually had shielding against mutants, perhaps even a couple of dampening fields, maybe. Xavier's intel had suggested she watch out for such things.

It could be deadly if she got caught unsuspecting by one of those pesky dampening fields while passing into the next room between her and the purpose of her visit.

__

Half-in,half-out… Jeeze, can't think like that.

****

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

****

FOOTNOTES:

[1] I know they didn't actually keep in contact with him on panel in the X-Treme title, but it was stated that he would carry that role in the Christmas issue where they had their initial meeting about searching out the books.

[2] Just happened in X-Treme X-Men # 13.

[3] If I included someone Rogue had never actually absorbed in the comics, then too bad, I'm saying she absorbed them for the purposes of my story.

[4] The whispered words Bobby hears in his dream are the lyrics from Tori Amos' "Icicle."

[5] According to a few character bios on Bobby, as of the events of a particular limited series where he, Mystique, Toad and Juggernaut had been sent on a time traveling mission against their will, Bobby now has near complete control of his powers. In this series, Bobby was shown to be able to turn his ice form self into water and reform it. He transforms other forms of ice in much the same manner. The best description and use of these powers were in the fanfiction "Two Thieve" by Lori McDonald and Valerie Jones, and "Blind Sight" (still unfinished, ugh!) by Valerie Jones.

[6] When I picture Rogue as a pre-teen, I always saw her as a mix between Annie, Pippi Longstockings, Punky Brewster, and Anna Chulmsky (sorry spelling, I'm talking about the girl from the first My Girl movie).

[7] X-Treme X-Men #13, the same very issue where Sage gives Rogue control over the powers she absorbed. I know I'm writing my own version of Rogue's role in the diaries with this very story, but I am just dying to see what they really do with it in the comics. 

[8] I know that I said that this story takes place after the whole multi-dimensional invasion story line has ended. And, that it takes place after Gambit and Storm have all been rescued from the big bad invaders (well, because it had to happen right, they wouldn't kill off another major character so quickly after killing off Psylocke all in the same title). And, although I was thankfully correct in my prediction of Rogue gaining control of the powers she's absorbed (X-Treme X-men #13), I did not have the luck of predicting that Xavier would get back the use of his legs like he did in Uncanny # 126. I mean, who'da thunk it? So, for the sake of my story, I'm just pretending it didn't happen, okay?

[9] Okay, I'm going by memory, but I'm positive that in that classic Inferno story in the first X-Factor series, Sinister actually started a sentence while inside of her and completed it inside of himself. If this isn't true, then we'll just pretend it happened. I'm being too lazy to go look that up right now. Besides, they make that sort of mistake in the comics all the time and we just have to accept, right? Plus, this is just fan fiction…

****

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~


	11. Chapter 11 Subtle

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Seether

Chapter Eleven – Subtle

By Randirogue

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

"Dim the lantern. Kill the lights. Let's keep tonight to hide away, to take comfort in the dark and to leave our hearts behind to wait, to tear away these dreadful skins that we must shed to start again. The evil things that we can do are easy if we think them through… are easy if we can't return…" (Here Come the Snakes –by Crooked Fingers)

Gyrich's thumb quivered over the green button on the remote.

"Push the button, and I die," Kitty said. It was flat, a statement, nothing more. "But so do you."

Gyrich held his breath. He didn't blink. He didn't move a muscle. Just in case. There were three bone claws protruding from his chest and he didn't want to die.

Kitty was phased, her head and shoulders protruding from the floor. Her hand on Rogue's wrist was the only thing keeping Gyrich alive. If she let go…

Rogue held her bare hand beside Kitty's face. 

"You can't touch me, Rogue, I'm phasing."

"I didn't have to touch Emma, Kitty. Wanna test this theory?"

__

Dang it! This is exactly why I didn't want to do this anymore, Professor. Sticky sits like this. Out loud, she said, "You can't do this Rogue. You'll regret it."

"Why? 'Cause the X-Men don't kill? 'Cause Ah don't kill? Haven't you been paying attention at all tonight?"

__

I knew this was a bad idea. Rogue on this mission, too many complications. I can't believe I let it get this far.

****

~~~~~~~~~~~

"So shut your windows. Lock your doors. Here come the snakes, you best be best be sure, to keep your conscience bolted tight 'cause they'll be lying waiting…" (Here Come the Snakes –by Crooked Fingers)

"Rogue, no! Don't!" 

It was too late. The fire was burning, her rage and the flames fierce as one. She did not forgive. Nobody won. As much as she cried, it wasn't enough to stop the pain, to stop the flames, to undo what was done. Regrets were like fingers. You couldn't cut them off and still write your epitaph. It wasn't her first regret. It wouldn't be her last. Though, sometimes regret was pleasure and pain. Somehow, she still had all ten fingers. She was slippery like that.

"But ya (cough) told meh ta, (cough) Mama!" She couldn't breathe. The smoke was thick and black. She couldn't breathe… but she didn't mind. It was finally over. Finally over. 

Wasn't it?

Jean raked the pillow off her face. She choked for breath. She looked to Scott, sleeping beside her. He hadn't stirred. She leaned on the pillow now on her lap. Her own hands cradled her face. Scott was asleep.

"Ahem."

Emma was sitting Indian style between Jean and Scott's feet. Jean clutched the pillow and accused Emma with a look.

"Don't blame me," Emma said. She was peaceful, eye's closed, as though meditating or concentrating deeply. "I didn't have to do anything. You tried to smother yourself with the pillow all by yourself." 

Jean sighed and calmed herself. It had been one heck of a dream, if it could even be called a dream. Jean looked to Scott once more. She held her gaze there when she said, "Your doing, I assume."

"We need to talk… alone," Emma said, but continued concentrating.

"Then it's true." It was more breath than voice. 

"Eleven isn't Eleven," Emma said.

"I think I know," Jean said.

Emma nodded. "I thought you might."

Once upon a time, a girl forgot. She cut off more than a finger or two. She cut off eight years. 

****

~~~~~~~~~~~

"Balled up in the corner, the devil never dies. Vending venom, sickly sweet, to help you through the night. Well, you say you're an angel, but I say you're a liar 'cause you were burning long before you crept into this fire…" (Here come the Snakes –by Crooked Fingers)

She hung by her legs as she lifted the ceiling tile and slid it to one side. Her targets were near. She had heard the two men's conversation before they rounded the corner, before she uncoiled. Now she just hung there upside down, ignoring the pressure of the blood rushing to her head, waiting for them to pass under her. Her favorite weapon, her garrote, was held ready in her hands.

They passed. She dropped.

No thought of landing creased her brow. All she KNEW was the two men in white and black suits. One was chosen, as though not of her free will since she had made no thought to choose him, and then all she KNEW was him, the man in black and white on the left. She narrowed her focus again and all she KNEW was the set of his shoulders below his head and the few inches of flesh of his neck in between. And she was falling through the ceiling hole, though she wasn't even conscious of it anymore. All she KNEW was that few sparse inches of flesh between head and shoulders.

Her arms snapped out, twisted, jerked, and snapped to her sides as far as they could stretch. His hands gasped at his throat as he stumbled and gawked. Using the garrote grips as a fulcrum, she whipped her legs around and under her. Her knees slammed into his back, sending them both tumbling to the ground. His arms went out to catch himself. His knee hit the tile, then his hands, then his chest, and she was waiting for his head to snap forward and crack against the tiled floor, knocking him out. But it didn't. 

A kick to her side knocked her off of him. It slammed her into the hallway wall and bounced her back on top of the man she'd attacked. The kick had surprised her enough from her one-track attack that she hadn't released the garrote grips. To her horror, the wire had sliced the entire circumference of his neck. She gulped. She didn't have time for much else. There was the second man to contend with still. She shoved her hands forward, twisted, jerked, and swung the wire out from under her first target's chin, catching his chin enough to delay the slap of his face on the tile by a split-second. She looked up to see the second man's eyes widen at the site of her. Garrote pulled taut before her, she crouched on top of his companion who was dying from the wound she'd inflicted on him. The killing wound that she'd inflicted with the garrote. It had been an accident. 

"Oh my God," he said when he saw her youthful face.

She ignored his surprised response as she sprung to a crouched position and swung one garrote grip to land squarely in his crotch. He doubled over and she yanked the grip back, catching it carefully, a split second before she back-flipped. Her hands planted expertly on the tile floor between the dying man's knees and as her legs whipped back over her head, she kicked the second man's head, snapping him back upright… sort of. He fell back against the wall and slipped to the floor, all the while clutching the family jewels and his now bloodied and broken nose. He blinked several times to clear his sight since he did not truly believe who his vision told him was his attacker. He watched her legs finish their back-flip motion over her head and land, left, right, catlike between his companion's feet.

"You're just a kid," he stammered as she stalked toward him. His hand was on his gun, but he couldn't bring himself to draw and shoot this little girl coming towards him. He had a daughter of his own.

One step. 

"I'm thirteen." 

Two steps. 

"And apparently," three steps, "old enough." 

Four steps. 

She dropped the garrote, slapped her hands to her thighs, and leapt. She grinned as he raised his hands up as though to ward off a blow. It was just as she expected. It played right to her movements. Both hands left her thighs one dagger heavier. She folded and crisscrossed her arms and pulled back across to snag a hand on each blade. One blade passed through his right hand and then embedded into the wall, pinning him there. She released that blade—sure of its hold in the wall—and sidestepped to pull the man's arms taut with her hold on the other blade that had struck through his left hand. She never once made notice of the sounds of his pains. She was living, breathing, acting on her training now. She was doing her foster mother proud.

"The code," she said. His eyes were on his hand that was pinned to the wall. She jerked his other hand and the pain of that whipped his attention to her.

"The code," she repeated. His face went cold and his gray eyes met her emerald green eyes as though he saw her for the first time. She wasn't a little girl like his daughter. She was a trained spy and killer. Her eyes were as cold and stony as his were now. The scrawny, budding body and cherubim face were no more than an elaborate disguise. At least, that's what he realized now.

"I can't," he stated firmly.

She twisted the blade in his hand. He responded with a tightening of muscle and a stubborn intake of breath.

"Last chance," she said.

He yanked his hand back out of her grip. She had no superhuman strength, after all, and he was a full-grown man. It threw her off balance. The blade sliced though her glove to nick her finger, distracting her further. He swung his blade pierced hand at her face. She jerked back, but she was too close and wasn't quick enough to evade the blow completely. The blade sliced through her tight leggings and caught in the meat of her calf as she fell back on her butt.

He grinned at her wince of pain and said, "I won't tell you. You'll have to kill me too."

She ignored him. She eyed the wound, specifically the skin bared by her sliced legging. There was a minimal amount of space that separated that small amount of her bare leg from his bare hand. It was just enough to see a sliver of light between them. She marveled at it a moment before she grasped his hand. He expected her to pull his hand away from her leg, or to at least pull the blade out. He didn't expect what she did do. She shoved his hand against her leg. She pressed and ground it against her. 

Bare skin met bare skin.

The pain subsided for his confusion. She flicked her eyes to him in time to see the confusion replaced by an altogether different pain. She watched him intently as she felt his thoughts leave his mind and enter hers. And then she couldn't see at all. She couldn't feel the blade. She couldn't smell her sweat, her blood, or his blood. She couldn't hear their breaths. Everything in her was diverted to the transfer of him into her.

__

Mark is my companion's name. We are not close friends. We barely like each other. But we had often been assigned together. I had four scrambled eggs, slightly runny with lots of cheese, pepper, and butter, for breakfast…

She continued to press his hand to her leg, trying to use it as a focus, as though she could filter what she got from him. But she couldn't. She'd been trying to, but she had no success so far. Mystique had instructed her to practice on every assignment. This was her first assignment. It wasn't working. It never worked. It was all a rush, all at once, practically indistinguishable, except for a bit here and there. And it was getting more jumbled the longer she held on. It was too much, too much.

__

I had sex with the waitress from the bar the night before… and three days before that… and two weeks ago… and three weeks ago… and my mother died last winter… she had cancer. I love her. I miss her. She was a wonderful mother. She was a better mother than my ex-wife was to our daughter. My daughter is ten and I have custody of her. 

Her eyes snapped open to find that he was slumped unconscious against the wall and floor. Tears ran down her cheeks as she jerked his hand—and the blade—away from her leg in a panicked rush. But the thoughts wouldn't stop. They wouldn't stop.

__

My father is still alive. But we find it hard to speak since my mother died. Every time we get together, we each remind the other of her and our grief resurfaces. We loved her so much. We'd felt so loved by her. And my daughter misses her grandparents. She has the same eyes as my mother. My father always mentions that when we do visit.

Rogue smacked her hands to her temples. Again, again, again she smacked, in time with crying, "Shut up, shut up, shut up. No, I hate you, I hate you, I hate you." 

She didn't care if she were caught. She didn't care if anyone heard. She didn't care until a cold barrel of a gun pierced the fever when it bumped against her crown.

She froze.

"You missed one, little girl," a male voice said as he bumped the gun against Rogue's crown again. The motion of the gun and the direction of the voice told Rogue that the man was standing, was probably about 5' 10" tall, and was no more than two feet behind her. The barrel bumped against her crown once more, followed by, "Get up."

Rogue grinned. 

She rolled to the side, sweeping her legs in a windmill fashion so that her injured leg knocked the gun out of this third man's hand a moment before her stronger, uninjured leg caught his knee enough to knock him off balance. As he fell, she rolled her body up to a crouch—careful to keep her weight off the injured leg—and tugged one of her gloves off. This third man started to rise, but Rogue made no move to jump on him to hold him down. Instead she jerked his pant leg up and positioned her bared hand over his bared calf. 

The man's eyes widened in horror. He understood the threat that her bare skin posed. He knew what she could do. Only a few people knew about her power and he shouldn't have been one of them. He hadn't been there to see what she'd done to the second man. 

Rogue huffed. "You've had your fun, Mama," she said. She nodded to the hand Mystique was slipping inside the coat, then continued, "Don't give me a reason to hurt you."

The hand remained in place under the cover of the jacket. The jacket, however, melted away, as did the figure of the man. The features rippled into that of Rogue's foster mother, Mystique. As soon as Rogue saw Mystique's cool yellow eyes meet her own emerald eyes, Rogue fought to keep from leaping into her foster mother's arms. After the assault of using her powers, more than anything she wanted the comfort of a loving mother's embrace. But she had the absolute knowledge that she wouldn't get it. They were on a job. And the job was not complete.

Rogue steeled herself.

Mystique looked to the second man as she stood. She immediately saw the rise and fall of his chest. He was breathing. "He's still alive," Mystique said accusingly. 

Rogue nodded and Mystique scowled. 

"Did you get the code?"

"He wouldn't say. Ah had ta… ta touch him."

"Did you get the code?" Mystique asked again, her anger rising. She didn't care about the details. She just wanted the answer to her question.

Rogue wouldn't face Mystique as she said, "I don't know. Maybe. I have to sort through his memories."

"Damn it, girl. When are you going to control it?" Mystique asked, not expecting an answer. She yanked the knife out of his hand and jabbed it into his throat. "No witnesses," she grunted out as she yanked out the other knife, the one stuck into the wall, and jabbed it through his eye, into his brain, and twisted. She checked the other downed man, smiling satisfactorily at Rogue when she found him dead by a garrote wound. 

"Let's go," she said. Mystique got up, turned on her heels, and headed down the hall in the opposite direction of Rogue. She never once looked back to see if Rogue followed.

Then again, why would she? Where else would Rogue go? 

Impostor Eleven knows.

"Lumina, come and wrap around me. Lumina, take me through the snow. Eve took a train. Eve took a train. Went to see her man. Melting inside, Melting away Like butter in the pan…" (Lumina –by Joan Osborne)

Rogue never did recall those codes… or the kill. 

Once upon another time, she forgot… again.

****

~~~~~~~~~~~

"So keep your shadow out of sight. The time is right to hide away, to keep your conscience frozen numb. The time has come. Don't be afraid…" (Here Come the Snakes –by Crooked Fingers)

This was how the mission started.

They were separate, moving on their own. It upped the chances that one of them would get past the security and reach the destination. Kitty knew it would be deadly if she got caught by one of those pesky dampening fields while phasing through a wall or floor. 

__

Half-in, half-out… Jeeze, can't think like that. 

Did she have to wait to find out, just try it and see?

No. Her mission partner was monitoring ahead for her.

__

"All clear."

Kitty phased through the wall and into a conference room. Just like all the other rooms she'd passed through in the last ten minutes this one was so dark so she couldn't make out any of the furnishings. When, again, there were lights on in the rooms, she'd know she was inside the most protected barrier, the area of the building that never shut down because it was too secret and too valuable to be left alone overnight. That's where she wanted to reach. However, she didn't know when that would be. The building plans she didn't match the actual room layout anymore. Now she was blindly phasing through floors and walls, seeking her rendezvous point by blindly roaming the governmental maze of the building. Well, almost blindly.

__

"Concentrate, Kitty… Your thoughts are distracting me, okay, Sugar?"

"Sure, Rogue."

Who needed communicators when there was telepathy? Rogue and Kitty had the communicators nonetheless, just in case they were trapped in a dampening field. Still, the telepathy was making it a less risky trek through the building since Rogue was scanning every mind she came across for information on the building's layout, security systems, and personnel locations. It wasn't a quick process, though. There was a major interference ring deep in the bowels of the installation. It was their destination and it was producing significant noise to keep even Rogue's use of Xavier's telepathy from reaching through it. Kitty and Rogue had to pause before phasing through every wall or floor so Rogue could check it out first. Even then, there were walls and floors that Rogue could not glean information on. But, so far they had been lucky.

Kitty paused in the room, waiting for Rogue's directions.

__

"Stop!" Rogue yelled, _"Unphase, now!"_

Too late.

"Ahhh!" Kitty yelped. A dampening wave had swept over her. She was now a vulnerable unconscious heap on the floor of the conference room. She hadn't been fast enough.

__

"Kitty! Kitty! Shit! Kit!" Rogue called out before the dampening wave swept over her as well. 

Rogue evaded the dampening wave. As soon as she saw it pass through the wall she shut down all her powers. She'd been flying, so she immediately fell to the floor, but just as the wave encompassed her, a horrible realization impacted her. _"It's not just a dampening wave. It's a sensor wave. It's a tracking wave. It would let them all know I am here and I am a mutant."_ She couldn't let that happen. They already had Kitty. 

So, she flew as fast and as hard as she could, straight up. She didn't look back. She didn't see the wave slip just a hair's breadth below her pointed toes. She flew/phased up through the ceiling, through the next room and into the one above that before she stopped. She never looked down. She never knew how close she came.

"So tear away these dreadful skins that we must shed to start again. The sickest thing they did to you they did because you let them through, they did because you let them in…" (Here Come the Snakes –by Crooked Fingers)

Fifteen minutes later, Rogue was back on track of her mission, heading towards the interference ring. It was, ironically, the same direction that Kitty had been taken by several guards. Her initial instinct was to rescue Kitty, call it quits, and bolt. But, Mystique had taught her better than that. The mission was most important. Still, Rogue kept a telepathic eye on Kitty. As long as Kitty was uninjured and in no immediate danger, Rogue would continue their mission. Kitty was merely unconscious and in the care of guards, and it was not enough of a threat for her to dissemble. That would have been Mystique's orders, at least.

She knew it was too easy when she reached the edge of the interference ring without once seeing a security officer or other personnel. It was too easy when she touched the guard at the only door that lead inside the interference ring and used his key code to pass inside it. So easy, she didn't even try to phase through the wall which the guard's memory had told her didn't have any active dampening fields within it. Active, being the operative word. How dumb would it be for her to phase through and SNAP, the field's activated, and she's snagged in a web reminiscent of her own spastic mindscape? It was too easy, too easy. She even found the decipher rooms on her first try. 

Taptaptaptaptaptap… Brennan's fingers danced over the keys. He called out, "Hey Janey, could you send me a transgress file overlay?" 

Taptaptaptaptaptap… He waited for a response. Taptaptaptaptap… 

"Janey!" 

Taptaptaptap… Janey couldn't answer. Rogue had already taken care of her. 

"I need an overlay!" 

Taptaptaptaptap… Thunk. He slumped onto the keyboard.

Rogue pushed the man off his terminal and to the floor before she began searching the terminal. She got hung up a couple of times. The technology was two years beyond her knowledge. She'd stopped keeping up with securities sometime after she'd joined the X-Men. Actually, it was more like the programming technology on the screen before her was in between her own knowledge. Rogue was familiar with the Shiar technology, which was far more advanced than even this, more than twenty or thirty generations above the U.S. government's technology. Rogue was familiar enough with Shiar programming that she could even design a few danger room or security programs in Shiar if she had to. But technology could go in a lot of directions in twenty or thirty generations, and Rogue had purposely let herself slip in keeping up with those directions. She'd hoped that her lack of knowledge would keep the X-Men from not trusting her, when she first joined, and later, would keep Xavier from involving her on any more of these Mystique-esque missions. That didn't go as planned though. Instead, Xavier teamed Kitty up with Rogue. 

Kitty was to handle the computer stuff. Rogue, well, she was to handle everything else. Rogue didn't even know that Xavier had Kitty doing covert ops like this. Just as the other X-Men likely had no idea that Rogue performed these missions for Xavier. 

Wonder how many of us he got doing stuff like this behind the other's backs, Rogue wondered to herself. _ Wolvie? Gambit? Storm, maybe? How many of us he got dragging up our dirty pasts to help him with the cause?_

Taptaptaptaptaptap… Rogue searched through the terminal faster and faster as she became more and more familiar with it. She had a quick mind, an adaptive mind. Part of that was from her mutant ability to assimilate thoughts and abilities of others into herself. Another part of it came from Mystique's training. A little of it came from fending for herself after she was forced to leave home before Mystique took her in. But the majority of it, she had to admit, came from the intellect's she'd absorbed over the years. She got their talents and skills along with memories and powers after all. But, the telepathy she had access to was also an aid at the moment. When she got stuck, she just peeked into one of the minds of the two terminal operators she'd just disposed of for the knowledge she needed to continue. She hadn't absorbed them to get the knowledge she needed to access the computers. She didn't want to do that unless she had no other choice. 

In the back of Rogue's mind, she acknowledged that she never did need Kitty's help. Rogue could pull any information she needed from someone in the know that was at the installation. And in places like this, there was always someone in the know nearby. The purposes in this place were too secret, too dangerous, and too vital not to be, even in the wee hours of the night. Only, there were scarce few people inside the interference ring. She couldn't let her paranoia over that distract her, especially since other not so friendly thoughts were already distracting her. Somewhere in that part of Rogue's mind that kept track of things that Rogue tired to ignore, that place that allowed her to lie to herself, Rogue realized that Xavier had used Kitty's involvement as a bribe to get Rogue take this assignment.

"I would like you to accompany Kitty on a mission, Rogue," Xavier had said to her. Rogue didn't need telepathy or even Gambit's empathy to know the true statement. What'd he'd really meant was, 'I want you to do this Rogue. But if you don't agree, I'll send Kitty by herself into the dangers of this mission. Kitty, who's out living her own normal life right now.'

"How do you rate it?" She had asked him in return. Really, what she had said was, 'How dangerous is this for her?' That made Rogue recall the thing that was making her seventh sense sing. Since Kitty's capture, Rogue had been making progress way, way too easily. 

__

Can't let myself get distracted. If there's a trap here, I'll deal with it when it comes up. Might as well take advantage of the easiness of it. Rogue shook her head to clear it, and refocused on her task.

Janey and the hyper young man that Rogue had subdued were both code experts and were trying to solve messages in two of the diaries. Janey was assigned one diary and this man, Rogue pulled his name from his unconscious brain, Gary, was assigned the other. 

__

So Xavier's information was accurate on that aspect at least. Gyrich had two diaries in his possession… Okay, so he's got me drawing on my training with Mystique to further our cause, not just his cause. It'd been a long time since anything she did with or for the X-Men was for his cause. She doesn't remember exactly when, but at some point it became her cause as well… _Just like it had for Gambit… Just like it had for so many of us._

Suddenly, Xavier's encouragement for them to use trades of their pasts, the things they had sworn never to return to doing, didn't seem so seedy. In truth, he was trying to help them heal themselves. In embracing his dream, in making it their own and becoming better people for it, Xavier returned their favor by trying to accept that their own tainted pasts were what made them who they were today. And he was proud of who they were. Not proud that they had sided with him, but proud of the people they were in entirety. He wanted them to embrace their pasts as they embraced his dream for the future. 

__

Including me, she realized with a start. 

He'd been subtle about it with Rogue. He requested her involvement of these missions that so resembled the missions she had performed under Mystique. On Xavier's missions, she used the same skills, intellect and physical, as the spy/terrorist missions for Mystique. Only, they had a few small differences. Rogue wasn't expected to kill. The purpose of the mission supported a goal that Rogue preferred; one she questioned less because it felt more right with her. And finally, and perhaps the most significant difference, for Rogue at least, was that Xavier didn't treat her as coldly as Mystique did about them.

With realization came something else. A warmth spread throughout her, like she'd shed an icy skin that was no longer needed for protection because a more durable and pliable one had formed in the shedding. Rogue had disrobed a layer of pain and insecurity. She'd revealed more of herself… no, not revealed, but regained.

"Zero Beta Niner Beta Alpha Zero Niner Omega," Rogue said and smiled. That had been the code she'd never recalled. That was the code she absorbed from that man so long ago when she was just a budding teenager, the man that Mystique had put the knife through his eye.

Sad and edgy. _"**Hi, there,"**_ Thirteen said. She'd been released from the Core.

"Lumina, see me in the dark. Eve had to ask. Eve had to ask, What is wrong with this? Here is the place, now is the time. Let's invent the kiss. Lumina, come and wrap around me…" (Lumina –by Joan Osborne)

Sometimes, stories begin with 'Once upon a time' and end with 'Happily ever after.'

Sometimes.

****

~~~~~~~~~~~

"So shut your windows, lock your doors. Here come the snakes, you best be sure, to keep your conscience bolted tight 'cause they'll be lying waiting…" (Here Come the Snakes –by Crooked Fingers)

The waiter led Gambit's contact through the restaurant. Every person looked up at him. None dared meet his eyes. They averted their attention to his simple, yet tailored, navy blue business suit. They envied his sure steps and solid stature. He was over six feet tall and had a broad chest. They feared the strength muscle that was so obviously in waiting beneath the suit and the strength of mind inside his head. They looked no higher than the grim set of his jaw. Not even Gambit met his eyes as he crossed the room. But, then, Gambit had other reasons.

A hand tugged on the man's sleeve. The man turned those eyes that nobody would meet onto the owner of that hand. 

The owner said, "Mr. Pullot, Chancellor, meet my wife… my kids." It was cheery and excited.

His kind brown eyes alit with glee and he said, "Call me Cael, Simon, please." He loved meeting members of fellow clans. He so hated it when they felt intimidated by him. He let Simon lead him to his family. After meeting them and kissing the kiddies' cheeks, he made his way to Gambit.

Gambit chuckled, thankful that Cael's entrance had distracted him from his thoughts of Rogue and Impostor Eleven. Cael frowned. He really hated how people feared him so easily. His rank in the New York Thieves Guild was the primary culprit for that. Everyone in the Guilds took it too much to heart, he thought. He was no more than any of them were. He was just a man.

He sat and nodded at the waiter. Neither Gambit nor Cael spoke until the waiter put privacy screens in place surrounding them. The screens had a nifty way of muting their words from the other restaurant patrons. It also interfered with any recording devices that may have been hidden on or around their person or table and such. 

"I got a disc, Cael," Gambit said with a flick of his risk that produced the disc into Cael's sight, but not his reach. "A bit o' interesting information on it, n'est-ce pas?"

"So I was right about Janey?"

"Oui." A pang of guilt struck him. He was careful not to show it outwardly. _Went too far wit' dat femme,_ he thought as he remembered that pinch two nights ago. It had been the night he returned to the mansion drunk. The night he found Bobby asleep with Rogue on her bed. 

Cael held his hand out for the disc. Gambit didn't give it. 

"What's y' interest in de Libri Veritatum?"

Cael did not pull back his hand. His eyebrow quirked. "You've seen the disc. You know."

"Why de Guild involvement? Unless it's personal?"

Cael relented and lowered his hand. Gambit placed the disc on the table in front of Cael. "My boy's a mutant, you know. He's known Janey since college."

"Martin? Why send me, den. Why not send him? Dis didn't need my expertise. And if it's personal—"

"Gyrich, Remy," Cael said, cutting Gambit off. "This is Henry Peter Gyrich's personal project. And this isn't as simple as the sentinels."

Now, Gambit was really interested. Something had always bothered him about that man. It was something that Sinister had said to him once, something Gambit had thought inconsequential at the time. Gambit wished he hadn't blown off so many of Sinister's lectures in those days.

Cael ran both hands through his salt and pepper hair, then with his head still tilted down, said, "Janey came to Martin with the basics. She knew he was a mutant. It scared her, but she never held it against him. She's strong like that. She took the job with Mutant Affairs hoping she would learn more about mutants. She had no idea what she was getting involved in."

Gambit was getting antsy. He wanted to hear about Gyrich, not about Janey, but he couldn't push Cael. It would have been against Guild protocol, not that Gambit was always one to follow it, but more importantly, it would have been rude. Cael had covered for Gambit on several occasions and not once had Cael questioned Gambit's reasons for needing to be covered. If Gambit was rude enough to question Cael's intentions with the diaries, then the least he could do was to let Cael answer in his own way.

"Janey was hired only a few weeks after Bastion's OZT had been canned. She had interviewed with Gyrich personally, although she didn't know who he was at the time. She's done her research since then." Cael lifted his eyes to Gambit then. There was real fear there. "If it's true, Gambit. If he can build this thing she's working on… this Seether project? It'll make OZT seem like child's play."

Gambit flicked his eyes to the disc then back to Cael. "Dere's not'ing about any kind o' machine on dat disc, Cael. It only deals wit' somet'ing called Days of Future Past. Barely even mentions de Seether project."

"It's only half of it. She has a partner, some kid, Gary something. Logics whiz like her. They worked together, but separate you know. I need his—"

Gambit raised his hand. "Don't bot'er asking, Cael."

Cael sunk. Gambit was his only hope. He couldn't bring what he had so far to the Guild. Without tangible proof of the machine itself, the Guild won't get involved. They don't involve themselves with politics outside the Guilds themselves. They behave like a country all to themselves… like organized nomads spread all across the world. They would only act against a government itself if the politics affected the Guilds as a whole, down to the clans on a widespread scale. And that's what the machine would do. The ratio of mutant to human births was so high now that Cael believed that hardly a clan member would be effected in some way or other. He had been sure Gambit would help him. Not just because he was a mutant, but since he had settled in New York, Gambit had been increasingly interested in mutant related assignments. Over the last year or so, Gambit had only accepted two or three assignments that didn't relate to advancing mutant acceptance. That was how Cael new Gambit. Cael was Chancellor of Mutant Affairs; a committee started eight years ago by Jean-Luc LeBeau, Remy's adoptive father, and the man whom recommended Remy to Cael a little over a year ago.

Gambit smirked. It was a peak of the Remy that the X-Men knew and loved. It was a break in his Guild regalia. "It's already being handled." Cael's sigh of relief followed. Gambit stood and said, "I'll contact y' when I get it."

Cael grabbed his arm, leading him back to the chair, and said, "One more thing." Gambit didn't sit back down. Cael released him, and said, "A third book."

"Where?"

"Cairo."

Gambit knocked on the screen, it was removed just as Cael pocketed the disk, and Gambit left.

****

~~~~~~~~~~~

"Balled up in the corner, the Devil never dies. Vending venom, sickly sweet to help you through the night…" (Here Come the Snakes –by Crooked Fingers)

The first directive of their mission was to all copy the files of the Seether project. Rogue was already on the fourth disc. _Gotta love this high speed tech._ While waiting for the fourth disc to finish copying, Rogue performed the first half of the second directive of their mission, one that only Rogue could do. She touched her bare hand to Gary's face. And held on. 

Images seeped into her. _Flip, flip, flip—dinner in the cafeteria—lunch in the cafeteria—breakfast in the cafeteria---flip, flip, flip._ They got faster and faster the longer she held, and now they were filled with a sense of understanding, an appreciation of chaos and logics. She'd gained the skill he'd been hired for. But she didn't have what she really needed.

__

Flip-flip-flip-flip-flip—diary page—diary page—meeting with Janey and Gyrich—

**__**

"Gyrich!" That was Impostor Eleven, of course, who Rogue still didn't know was an impostor. With the recognition of Gyrich's name, Impostor Eleven stopped what she'd been doing and rifled through the memories Rogue was absorbing. 

The images flipped exponentially faster with her assistance. Rogue found it harder to view the memories for herself. _Flipflipflipflipflipflipflip—blur—blur—blur—blur—blur—Gyrich holding two diaries—blur—blur—blur—_

Rogue prayed she'd get what she needed soon in the transfer, because she really didn't want to kill him any more than she wanted another persona in her head. She absorbed him rather than psi-scan him. This way she couldn't forget. And it was quicker… if only she could control it. But, now Impostor Eleven was in on it.

__

BlurBlurBlurBlurBlur—Lily's smile—BlurBlur— 

Enough!* Rogue ripped her hand away. The transfer stopped; the memories slowed_. Blur-Blur-Blur-flip-flip-flip,flip.Flip.Flip…_ Rogue caught her breath and replaced her glove on her hand. 

Beep. Copy Complete. 

__

"If ya ever do that again," Rogue told Impostor Eleven as she ejected the completed disc and injected the next one. 

**__**

"An' ya'll do what? Hmmm…"

Enter. Beep. Copying.

__

"I'll think of something," Rogue said. She looked to Gary. He was still breathing. She checked his pulse with her gloved hand. It was steady. _Like that means anything. Just 'cause the body lives don't mean it's any more than an empty husk._

**__**

"He's not empty," Thirteen said. Sad and edgy.

__

"How do ya know?" It was skeptical. She felt Thirteen pull a blade of grass from her mindscape and chew on it. Thirteen was sitting, propped up against a simple gravestone. The name Mark Sumpter was engraved on it. A mirrored void surrounded her.

**__**

"I was in there for almost ten years, Sugah. Like SHE said, it gets real boring. SHE learned control. Ah learned how to sort. Ah can't filter the thoughts. But Ah can find what's there real quick." She tugged at the grass and leaned her head back on top of the gravestone. A sad nostalgia filled her. **_"Ya didn't get it all."_** Sad and edgy.

Rogue bit her lip. She didn't want to ask this, didn't want to make Thirteen do this for her. She hated having to ask for help. But she needed to know if she was successful. _"Did Ah get—"_

**__**

"Ah'll check," Thirteen said. She spat out the grass and stood. She walked to the mirror void, which really was a wall. It was like that Vietnam Memorial Wall. Black. Reflective. Close up there were names, titles, and dates embedded into every available space reaching impossibly high, and completely encircling her. There were no seems, no breaks in the mirrored surface. It was a prison of her own making; she had to look at herself forever.

Thirteen closed her eyes and rested her bare palms on the wall, feather light. The wall spun under her palms. She read the names and titles and dates like Braille. The spinning stopped and the wall scrolled down to place Gary Brazer's memories under her touch. She pressed one engraving after another, the memory playing on the wall with each touch. Despite the images on the wall, Thirteen's reflection always faced her.

**__**

"Ya got it." She removed her hands from the wall and the images disappeared. Still, her reflection remained. Sad and edgy.

__

"Thank you."

Thirteen shrugged, returned to sitting against the gravestone, and chewed on another blade of grass.

Beep. Copy Complete.

Rogue ejected the disc, replaced it, and commenced copying. She checked what remained to be copied, compared it to the space on the disc. _Last one._ She turned away from the computer and headed around the divider to the other workstation. Her eyes flicked to Gary as she passed him. _Your turn, Janey._ She removed her glove…

**__**

Wait, Irene's web-shrouded figure said. 

Rogue froze. She didn't know why. Something in her felt wrong. It wasn't the seventh sense she'd gotten from Carol. Though, that was still singing for a reason she was still unaware of. It was something different. A warning she could hear… almost. She shook it off and took another step.

**__**

Wait, repeated Irene's web-shrouded figure. 

Again, Rogue froze. She looked at her bared hand, then to Janey. Perhaps, she should wait for the last disc to finish, for the hard drive to be erased for good, before she absorbed Janey. Just in case. She put the glove back on and returned to the mainframe. And she waited.

And waited.

Beep. Copy complete.

Rogue removed the disc. She packed her discs and every other disc in the room, on both Gary and Janey's sides, into her bag. She had the urge to just smash the monitors and mainframe to bits, but didn't. That would've been loud, and even though she was sure a trap lie ahead of her, she didn't see the point of calling attention to herself just yet. She went to the mainframe and unplugged it. If she wasn't going to be loud, then she wasn't going to risk knocking out all the electricity on accident either. She enveloped the main frame in a magnetic field. Moments later, everything was erased. There was nothing left on it. A cursor wouldn't even show up when it was turned on. She disabled all the monitors in Gary and Janey's work stations by magnetic fields as well. With all of that completed, she swung the bag onto her back, and approached Janey with her bare hand. Before making contact, she reached out to Kitty telepathically to check on her. Kitty was unconscious still, but she was physically and emotionally fine.

Flesh touched flesh. Only a graze, though. Her head reeled from just that little bit, and she hated having to touch Janey again, but she had an idea to maybe make this absorption easier, more productive.

__

"Thirteen?"

Sad. **_"Ah'll try, but Ah ain't promising anything."_** Edgy.

__

"It's better than nothing," Rogue said. She felt Thirteen work her palms against the wall, feather light, and close her eyes. The wall began spinning and scrolling, and one last time, Rogue made skin to skin contact with Janey.

This time Rogue saw the memories play over the wall. They overlaid each other, the wall spinning, scrolling underneath. The wall would jerk to a stop for an instant of an instant as a memory was embedded into the wall underneath a newly added name, title, date. Then it would again spin, scroll, then stop, embed, and repeat. 

Rogue watched it all with new eyes. It was so organized. Not like usual. It was true that she couldn't control it, that she couldn't filter what memories transferred into her. But, the chaos was significantly diminished. It felt like the first, albeit it baby, step towards controlling her absorption powers. It was wonderful. It was liberating. It was another puzzle piece towards Union.

__

Smack! Kitty snapped awake with the impact of a hand on her cheek.

Rogue jolted, but didn't stop the transfer. She felt for Thirteen, saw her still engrossed in categorizing the memories, and decided not to interrupt her. Kitty wasn't in danger from what her telepathy, Emma's telepathy, had detected. She kept the touch contact, but kept the telepathic contact with Kitty as well.

Telepathic view.

"Gyrich," Kitty spat.

"Yes, X-Man," he said while holding her communicator for her to see. It's an X with a circle around it. "Shouldn't advertise so much. It'd be easier to keep from being identified when you're caught."

"Catch me, sure, but not hold me," she said before phasing.

Gyrich laughed at the expression on her face. She hadn't phased. She was stuck in handcuffs, on the floor. The floor was cold. A question creased her brow, but before she could ask it, Gyrich answered, "Collars are an archaic technology, X-Man." He motioned to the room they were in and adds, "This is the future."

Kitty examined the room. It greatly resembled the new Cerebro unit that Xavier had built. Kitty had only seen it once, in Xavier's thoughts when he had used it to contact her about this mission. Kitty had asked where he was, since he'd never been able to reach that far with his telepathy before. That's when he sent her an image of Cerebro. She knew the reason for it, really. He had been using it to entice Kitty back to the mansion. Showing her the more powerful telepathic enhancing module was like saying, 'Look at all these new goodies we have. Wouldn't you just love to come and play with them? Technology like this doesn't exist where you are.' She'd succumbed to the temptation, and now she was here. If she didn't make it out of this mission alive, she'd never get to see Cerebro in person.

It was a weird sensation, Rogue's attention being split between the absorption view and the telepathic view. It was like swimming in a migraine. An undertow of nausea pulled her down while the surface current—the head pain—yanked her back up. Up, down, up, down. The sensation itself was nauseating. She knew she had to find a way to focus on one or the other, just for a moment.

Absorption view.

Remy's face, contorted in sexual release, was enough to focus Rogue's attention on the memories playing over the wall. A new image replaced it. Janey, post-coital and pretending to sleep, opens her eyes to see Gambit slip a disc in his duster pocket as easily as he slipped out of her room. 

It hurt enough to shove her attention onto the telepathic link with Kitty. 

Telepathic view.

__

The room Kitty and Gyrich were in was round like Cerebro, though many times larger. It was metal… all metal. 

'Hope you didn't want to hide it from Magneto,' Kitty thought, 'but then, everyone thinks he's dead, don't they?' 

Instead of a chair and a helmet that lowered onto the user's head, the center of the room held a contraption that looked like an iron maiden without all the spikes. It was open, like an ancient Egyptian sarcophagus. The two halves held apart by four hydraulic rods, top left and right, and bottom left and right. The halves were rectangular, like oversized cereal boxes. On the interior of both halves there were human shaped hollows that looked like it could hold a small man or a woman on the tall side. The metal surrounding the hollow, forming the rectangular cereal box shape, was at least a foot thick at its thinnest point, where the hollow was deepest. Flexible ribbed metal chords stretched from the solid sides of both halves. 

An image played through Kitty's head. The halves closing, liquid plastic pouring in through those chords and filling the hollow. When the hydraulics again sounded, the halves would again separate, revealing a life size doll. Kitty shuddered, she knew that this wasn't an extravagant toy manufacturing device. Knowing Gyrich, it was a way to destroy mutants. Her initial association with the medieval torture device, an iron maiden, was likely much more accurate.

Kitty didn't bother asking if he was going to put her in it. 'What would be the point of that?'

__

Gyrich saw where she was looking. He saw her fear and her stubborn determination fighting that fear. He grinned, wide as he could. This sight before him, this vision of a mutant's doom, was what he had been working towards for the majority of his professional life. If every last mutant suffered Kitty's fear, then it would almost make up for the loss he suffered when he wife and daughter died. Since their death, he'd lived only for his profession.

Switched again. Absorption view.

Playing out on the wall was Gary pointing out and explaining a page in the diary to Gyrich and Janey. On the page is Kitty, handcuffed, her eyes x-ed out; Gyrich pointing a gun with smoke trails coming off it; Rogue, flying towards a break in a circle wrapping around Gyrich and Kitty; and Rogue again, crumpled in a heap just inside the break in the circle.

Rogue yanked her hand away from Janey, breaking the transfer. She felt Thirteen thrown back from the wall because of the abrupt break. Thirteen was stunned, and like with Gary, there were trails of the memories swooning through Rogue. The chaos returned with Thirteen's disconnection from the wall. Images blurred through her, but Rogue swore she saw a page of the diary with Rachel, in her Hound attire, and Kitty on it.

__

Was that a leash linking Rachel to a box? Rogue shook her head, trying to clear her mind of the memories. _Focus, girl. Focus on Kitty. Kitty._

The telepathic connection bobbed to the surface.

Telepathic view.

__

"To make the future happen," Gyrich said, pulling out a gun, "I only need you to scream." He shot her.

Rogue was already flying down the hall. The round exterior wall came into view.

****

~~~~~~~~~~~

"Well, you say you're an angel, but I say you're a liar 'cause you were burning long before you crept into this fire…" (Here Come the Snakes –by Crooked Fingers)

Jean and Emma sat in the unoccupied bedroom. They were on the floor, facing each other, not a speck of furniture around them. Both had their eyes closed. Both were concentrating their telepathic powers intently. Jean was linked into Emma, seeing what Emma saw. Emma clung to a web that tugged on her chest and ended in a particular location on the astral plane. It ended in a private residence within a private residence there. It was the hardest task Emma had ever performed with her telepathy. The strain showed in the sweat beading on her brow and soaking her blouse.

But, it was worth it. Her and Jean had retraced the catch into Rogue and were maintaining a view through Emma's ghost.

"Why should I help you?" Emma's ghost asked.

The six web-shrouded figures responded, speaking in tandem, one following the other as though they had rehearsed their answers. Or as though their answers were being fed to them by someone or something else. Of course, Psylocke's web-shrouded figure could not speak, but the others did.

**__**

"To prevent the worst case scenario, of course."

"To prevent Union from going wrong."

"To prevent the end."

"Of Rogue."

"Of Everything."

Psylocke's web-shrouded figure peaked behind her, then looked back at the group.

"To save the world?" Emma's ghost asked with incredulity. "If Rogue dies the world could end, something like that?"

**__**

"Not exactly, no."

"The world does not exist because of her, no."

"She is not that important."

"We weren't." 

"Nobody is."

Psylocke's web-shrouded figure again looked behind her.

"Look!" Emma's ghost snapped, yanking Psylocke's web-shrouded figure's attention back with it. "I'm going to need more information than this," Emma's ghost said, "Stop talking in circles and give it to me straight."

**__**

"We do the best we can."

"We are dead after all."

"We exist because IT knows of us."

"And Rogue doesn't."

"And IT is sentimental."

"Okay, then. Good luck. See you around." Emma's ghost said as she turned around and started walking off.

**__**

"Wait-ait-ait-ait-ait!"

Emma paused

**__**

"There-ere-ere-ere-ere are-re-re-re-re risks-sks-sks-sks-sks."

Emma's ghost stopped, but did not turn to face them. She needed more than that.

**__**

"Union could be dangerous."

"IT must be precise."

"Steps must be followed."

"IT cannot be distracted."

"Or Union could cause death."

Emma's ghost turned around and smiled. She knew there was more to this Union thing. Nothing is ever all good, and the fact that Impostor Eleven made it seem like Union would solve all of Rogue's problems only made Emma more skeptical. Now, with this admission, they were finally getting somewhere. She faced them squarely and said plainly, "Now tell me what Union is."

Once more, Psylocke's web-shrouded figure looked behind her.

**__**

"Union is—"

"Hold on a second," Emma's ghost said. She stomped up to Psylocke's web-shrouded figure. "What's so important, huh? Are we not interesting enough for you?"

Psylocke's web-shrouded figure touched her gag with one hand and lifted up the catch for Emma's ghost to see. 

"Yes, you're gagged and bound, it can't be a new experience for you," Emma's ghost said. "You were an experimental girl, so I've heard."

Psylocke's web-shrouded figure scowled at Emma's ghost then gave a nod to the other web-shrouded figures.

**__**

"It's-ts-ts-ts-ts HER-ER-ER-ER-ER, Emma-ma-ma-ma-ma."

They dropped through the ground, then emerged back through the ground. They were in a different location.

Hundreds of catches carpeted the ground like a woven rug. In the center swirled the shimmering cloud. One catch shimmered like she did. It was Kitty's catch that shimmered. She'd abandoned toying with Magneto's catch as soon as she'd realized that Kitty and Rogue were on the mission for Xavier. Then she focused all her attention on Kitty's catch. She'd observed them making their way through the installation, progressing on the interference ring. She'd gotten excited when the wave had knocked Kitty out and sent Rogue fleeing.****

Finally, some action, she'd exclaimed to herself. She was even happier when Thirteen was released. She'd gotten bored, though, after that, while Kitty was unconscious and Rogue was copying the files. Rogue was just starting on the fourth disc, so she was glad for the company, even if not glad for who that company was. She was also a bit testy.

**__**

"It's-ts-ts-ts-ts HER-ER-ER-ER-ER!" She mocked. **_"Gawd! Do ya'll always have ta be so dramatic!" _**She swirled nearer them, though never broke the hold on Kitty's catch.**_ "Ah have an identity, ya know. Ya'll agreed on it."_** The last part was directed to Emma's ghost.

Emma said nothing. But she did smirk as she stepped aside. The child Rogue, the real Eleven, stepped forward. Cody's child ghost followed along behind her.

**__**

"Oh. Ah guess ya know then," Impostor Eleven said. She tried for it to sound inconsequential, like she'd been caught with her hands in the cookie jar by a younger sibling who she knew she could intimidate. She did move back rather suddenly, though. She backed up as far from Eleven as she could and still maintain her hold on Kitty's catch. It did not go unnoticed. 

Emma's ghost moved closer to Impostor Eleven. The others followed Emma's ghost's lead, keeping Eleven ahead of them to intimidate Impostor Eleven. It was working. Impostor Eleven swirled and shimmered crazily. Cody's web-clothed figure halted them with a raised arm. Then he motioned them back a few steps. Slowly, Impostor Eleven calmed down.

Emma's ghost was about to speak but Eleven jumped in.

**__**

"Why Eleven?"

Impostor Eleven shifted from right to left. **_"Mah mama died when Ah was eleven."_** She advanced up on Eleven and said, **_"But then ya wouldn't remembah that, would ya?"_**

Cody's web-clothed figure placed a gentle hand on Eleven's shoulder and pulled her back a little. Impostor Eleven watched. It wasn't an exact description, since Impostor Eleven had no formal body shape and therefore she had no eyes. It was as accurate way to describe the way she waited as anything else that could describe it. After a few moments, Impostor Eleven floated back a bit as well. Emma's ghost thought there was something a little sad about how she did that. It didn't keep her from interrogating further, though.

"Who ARE you?" Emma's ghost asked.

**__**

"Once upon a time, I fantasized being called, 'mother,'" was her answer.

Emma's ghost was about to give a sarcastic quip, but, again, someone spoke first, beat her to it.

"That's a scary thought." It was Cody's child ghost. Emma's ghost had to agree. 

**__**

"Cody!" 

Impostor Eleven was shocked. She had always favored Cody. Thought him worthy of Rogue. She didn't have a chance to indulge in her shock though. It was then that Rogue absorbed Gary during the mission. Both Eleven and her Impostor felt it too.

Cody's ghost and all of the remains of the dead catches tended to Eleven, who had collapsed in what looked like pain… or maybe vertigo? It was hard to say. Emma's ghost, though, she watched Impostor Eleven disperse into nothing again. Kitty's catch had stopped shimmering, too.

**__**

"Gyrich!" Impostor Eleven's voice came from the nothingness she'd become. As usual, when she was in this state, her voice seemed to come from everywhere and nowhere all at once.

After a while, Eleven stopped shaking and she climbed up to stand, using Cody's web-clothed figure like a handrail. Impostor Eleven, as well, returned to her previous state. She coalesced into the shimmering cloud form, although, her attention wasn't on those gathered before her.

__

"If ya ever do that again," Rogue said.

**__**

"An' ya'll do what? Hmmm…" Impostor Eleven said.

__

"I'll think of something," Rogue said.

Eleven whispered to Cody's child ghost, **_"Thirteen is cool."_**

Cody's child ghost, having never been good with a secret, even before the kiss, exclaimed, "Thirteen's free? Why didn't ya tell meh?"

That got everyone's attention, especially Emma and Jean, sitting in the unoccupied bedroom. Emma almost lost the contact, but Jean helped her bolster it, and again they bore witness.

"Thirteen?" Emma's ghost asked, pushing her way through the remains of the dead catches to reach Eleven. "Who is she?"

"Don't worry, Emma, she's cool," Cody's child ghost said. "Eleven's told meh all about her."

Eleven elbowed Cody's child ghost. She met Emma's ghost's impatient glare and matched it. **_"Thirteen is strong… like Her,"_** Eleven, pointing to the shimmering cloud, said. 

**__**

"But not as strong as meh" Impostor Eleven said.**_ "None of ya'll are as strong as meh."_** It was triumphant. It was proud.

Eleven scowled at Impostor Eleven. She tugged on Emma's ghost's collar, pulling her down to eye level. **_"Thirteen is one of the ones that can do stuff. She can sort the absorbed memories bettah than everyone."_**

Emma's ghost began. "Is that—" 

**__**

"Wait," Irene's web-shrouded figure said.

Emma's ghost glared at her. _Interrupting me is a great way to get me to help you._ She was really getting tired of not being able to speak. It was like she wasn't Queen here or something.

**__**

"What's-ts-ts-ts going-ing-ing-ing on-n-n-n, Irene-ene-ene-ene?"

**__**

"Just wait till Union," Eleven said to Impostor Eleven. She was oblivious to Irene's web-shrouded figure. **_"Ya'll be just like all of us."_**

**__**

"Wait," repeated Irene's web-shrouded figure.

**__**

"Oh-oh-oh-oh, now-ow-ow-ow we-e-e-e see-ee-ee-ee."

Impostor Eleven, having regained her nerve with her anger at Eleven, swirled around the entire group, engulfing them. She focused her words on Eleven, saying. **_"Not if Ah handle things just right, twirp! Then Ah'll control everything. And won't ya be sorry then."_**

With everybody talking and with being suffocated by the shimmering cloud, Emma's ghost had had enough.

"SHUT UP!"

Silence.

The shimmering cloud swirled away.

"Okay. One. At. A. Time."

Then Eleven collapsed again and Impostor Eleven shimmered into nothingness again. Rogue had just absorbed Janey. But, this time something different happened. Rogue's mindscape was floating in a thought ocean with contradicting currents. Eleven was pulled under while Impostor Eleven coalesced and dispersed over and over again just at the sea level. The others were caught up in it too. Emma's ghost and the remains of Piotr, Irene, and Cody's dead catches were all dragged down by the undertow caused by the absorption of Janey. Emma and Jean, sitting in the unoccupied bedroom, saw through Emma's ghost's eyes, saw what Eleven saw. The rest were swept along on the surface. 

Then it just stopped. 

Everyone except for Impostor Eleven were strewn on the ground, even Jean and Emma, sitting in the unoccupied bedroom. Together, Emma and Jean barely managed to hold onto the connection. Impostor Eleven couldn't hold cohesion anymore and dispersed. They didn't see her again that night.

Slowly, they all got up. 

"Uhhh… If Ah could throw up, Ah would," Cody's child ghost said.

**__**

"Felt like a roller coaster," Eleven said. She was the only one enthused about it.

"Exactly," Cody's child ghost said.

"What was that?" Emma's ghost demanded.

**__**

"Ah don't know, but ya think we could get her ta do it again."

**__**

"I would prefer that she didn't," Joseph's web-shrouded figure said.

__

"I second that," Emma's ghost said.

Eleven grasped Cody's child ghost and Cody's web-clothed figure. **_"No, Rogue, don't!"_** She ran to Emma and begged her, **_"Make them stop her, Emma. She'll get caught. Tell Jean. She'll help."_**

In the unoccupied bedroom, Jean heard Eleven. She understood. She broke off from Emma. She was so focused on contacting Rogue telepathically through the interference ring that she didn't notice that Emma's tentative hold on the connection was also lost when Jean broke off. There had just been too much trauma to the connection for Emma to hold it alone.

****

~~~~~~~~~~~

"But I know you've been burning. We both know there's no light. So, dim the lantern so we don't see the darkness of this night." (Here Come the Snakes –by Crooked Fingers)

Rogue was about to bust down the door at full flight speed to rescue Kitty, when one word made it past the interference ring. 

__

"Don't," Xavier said. Bolstered by Cerebro, he passed the telepathic message to her from Jean, from Eleven. And she had stopped.

__

Don't? Don't what? Don't rescue Kitty? Don't fly? Don't--

That's when she remembered the image of the page from the diary. She had been flying in the picture. Then she was collapsed on the floor. 

Rogue lowered to her feet and walked up to the door. On the right side, there was a keypad and an eye scanner. Above it was a large, lit, depressed, green button. Directly above that was a large, unlit, red button. She took a chance and pressed the red button. It lit up. The green button popped out and its light went out. She heard machinery power down. When it finished, she punched the keypad for good measure. It sparked and fizzled.

__

Hope this is right.

She tore the door off. She looked inside. She saw Gyrich, pointing his gun at her, but Kitty was nowhere in sight. She ran inside. Gyrich just grinned at her and reached in his pocket_. _

Dang fool, already got your gun in your… 

He pulled out a remote. It had a red and a green button. Rogue almost laughed at his expression when it flew out of his hand. 

Telekinesis… it's the latest rage! …So is telepathy.

...

"Ya gonna talk," Rogue said as she dangled him near the ceiling. 

He looked at her. He looked at the hand that used to hold the gun. He looked at her. He looked to the floor. He saw the gun on the floor. He looked to her once more. 

"Funny what telepathy can make ya forget."

"You…erased…what just happened?"

"Yeah, Ah did," she said, leaning in close to his face. He backed away as far as his neck would let him. Still, she was close, so close. "So are ya gonna spill?" She traced a bone claw along his jaw. "Where's Kitty?"

He was confused again. "The ghost girl? She went through the floor."

"Good." She retracted the claw. "Next question. What's this?" She flew him over to the two hollowed halves. She gave him a real good look at them.

"Why don't you get inside and find out?"

Rogue wasn't expecting that. _*Low down, dirty, son of a--_ "Ah got a better idea. Why don't Ah put ya in it? What do ya think of that?"

Gyrich smiled. "It wouldn't do anything. It requires your powers to power it."

She really wasn't expecting that. His grin broadened. "How's it feel to find out you're the key to the destruction of mutant kind?"

She threw him. "Not in this lifetime." He hit the wall, hit the floor. He was between the remote and his gun. 

Kitty's surfaced near the remote. She carried two diaries. 

"You'll make a good hound," he told Kitty just before he dove for the remote. 

Kitty dunked under the floor. Gyrich got the remote, but Rogue yanked him up before he could use it. The jolt almost made him drop it.

SNIKT!

Gyrich's thumb quivered over the green button on the remote.

"Push the button and I die," Kitty said. It was flat, a statement, nothing more. "But so do you."

Gyrich held his breath. He didn't blink. He didn't move a muscle. Just in case. There were three bone claws protruding from his chest and he didn't want to die.

Kitty was phased, her head and shoulders protruding from the floor. Her hand on Rogue's wrist was the only thing keeping Gyrich alive. If she let go…

Rogue held her bare hand beside Kitty's face. 

"You can't touch me, Rogue, I'm phasing."

"I didn't have to touch Emma, Kitty. Wanna test this theory?"

__

Dang it! This is exactly why I didn't want to do this anymore, Professor. Sticky sits like this. Out loud, she said, "You can't do this Rogue. You'll regret it."

"Why? 'Cause the X-Men don't kill? 'Cause Ah don't kill? Haven't you been paying attention at all tonight?"

It was an old fashioned Mexican stand off… sort of. 

Rogue did the only thing she could do. Well, two things. She held him still with telekinesis as she tore into his mind with telepathy. She saw it all. It wasn't the way it was when she absorbed someone. It didn't drain him dry. She only saw. It was so simple.

"Take out the batteries," she told him. He complied. Clank. Clank. They hit the floor and rolled. Game over.

"I'm sorry," Kitty said as Rogue was flying them away after it was all said and done. 

"Don't worry about it. So it was made of adamantium. Big deal, Ah couldn't pound it to death, had to do it Erik's way."

Kitty laughed. Then laughed some more. "That was funny. You really wanted to use your fists."

"Yeah, Ah did." She laughed too. It was whimsical.

"But that's not what I meant."

"About what, then?"

"Well, you read his mind, right?"

"Yeah."

"And you're okay with it and all?"

"Don't have much choice, do Ah?"

"Sure?"

"Yeah."

"Okay… If you ever want to talk about it…"

"I'll call ya."

"Good."

"Rogue?"

"Yeah?"

"It wasn't as bad as I thought it would be."

"Yeah. Me too."

Rogue dropped Kitty off at her apartment and headed back to the mansion. She was glad to be alone with her thoughts. Was she okay with it? Not really. It was another reason her powers were a curse. Sure, she'd destroyed the machine and the files, but Gyrich was still alive. He still knew what it could do. He could have backups on the files in another installation. He could… 

It went on and on and on. 

But Rogue had been mistaken. Kitty hadn't been asking about the machine. She'd been asking about something else, something she thought that Gyrich knew, but, of course, he didn't. And therein lie his tragic flaw.

****

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Special thanks go out to Post, if you ever read this one, for naming Gambit's contact at the restaurant. 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~


	12. Chapter 12 Lyrical

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Seether

Chapter Twelve – Lyrical

By Randirogue

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

There was no theme song lilting in the background to tell her and everyone else how to feel or what was to happen next. But, there was an announcer. 

"You've got mail!" Her laptop speakers happily pronounced as she signed online. She almost didn't open it. 

Timing. It always came down to timing. And her mother was the best at manipulating her. She always knew how to twist the knife the hardest, and when to bring her good news.

Rogue had two emails. One was over a day old. The other one was sent that day. The second one was blatantly an advertisement and she deleted it immediately as a means of stalling her reading of the first email. This first email shone like a beacon. A beacon she hadn't wanted to read. 

To riverrat, Re: protégé, From: kilburn08@parendage.edu. 

Reluctantly, she double-clicked on it. 

Most of the page was blank. Centered was a short message: "The code was always meant for you. Use it like I taught you to. Make me and Irene proud."

It was direct and to the point. _Three sentences._ Just like she expected from Mystique. _Nineteen words."_ No fooling around. _Nineteen._ Nothing Mystique ever did was a coincidence. _Nineteen. _A hidden message? _Nineteen._ A warning? _Nineteen._ The revealing of something concealed. _Nineteen._ Concealing was a form of deception. _Nineteen. _A deception at face value was a lie. _Nineteen._ It was so simple, once realized.

__

"Nineteen!"

**__**

"Yesssssss?" Her voice was hesitant, and it lacked it's chickory flavor.

__

"Ya lied ta me, sugah… Didn't ya?"

**__**

"............."

__

"Lemme guess... Eleven, right?"

**__**

"Not Eleven," her voice was chickory again, haunting, taunting, like her following laughter.

__

"Not Eleven?" It was all skepticism.

**__**

"Not Eleven."

__

"Explain."

**__**

"Not my placcccccccce to tell." Laughter, haunting, taunting.

__

"Not your place?! Ah'm the one--" FLASH! The email was filled with black. "What the?"

Rogue had bumped the mouse, causing the pointer to move over the blank space on the email surrounding the three simple sentences contained on the otherwise huge blank space. She moved the mouse over it again... FLASH! There it was again. This time, looking for it, she saw that the flash of black was actually text. The entire email was filled with bold letters, without spaces, forming what looked like garbled gibberish. She did it again and again, but couldn't get the text to do more than just flash briefly. It didn't stay visible. There was no way she was going to figure out what it said doing it that way. She was going to have to dig deeper.

**__**

Laughter. Haunting, taunting.

__

"Shut up!" She snapped at Nineteen. To herself though, aloud, she said, "Thanks, Mystique. Leave it to ya'll to make something as simple as a hello to your daughter into a test of decoding skills." 

She pulled out a pad of paper and three colored pens, red, black, and blue. She was sure she wouldn't decode the message correctly the first try. 

"Should've known at the get go that the Nineteen thing was a hint at more layers in this thing." 

It had been years since she'd traded coded messages with Mystique. 

"Dang it! Like this was how Ah wanted to spend my Sunday."

She set to work.

****

~~~~~~~~~~~

Vargas confirmed his flight schedule and his hotel arrangements. He double-checked his luggage, waiting till last to pack the diaries into his carry-on. He wasn't about to leave the safekeeping of the diaries to uncaring baggage handlers. They were precious treasures. He would use them to stop Rogue once and for all.

He slipped the diaries into his carry-on, zipped it closed, picked it up and left. Sure of his intended destiny, he never looked back. 

He had two choices in searching out the last two diaries that weren't in the government's nor the X-Men's possession. Well, there was the one that his research said Magneto had, but that was one he would contend with later. First, he had to get the two other diaries before the X-Men got them, hoarded them, or even worse, in their infinite wisdom of not wanting certain people to use them for purposes against the X-Men's ideals, destroying them. So, two places were indicated in his research. One was Caldecott County, Mississippi, Rogue's hometown. He figured that of the two locations, that one could wait, since Rogue would not head there right away since Cody had died, since she'd lost all personal ties there. Rogue didn't deal well with her early past, especially with anything before Cody, Mystique, and Irene. She didn't even use the name she'd answered to from that time in her life, if she even remembered it anymore. He had a suspicion that much of what Rogue kept a mystery about her past were things she didn't actually remember, and she didn't want to admit to them that she didn't remember. So, according to his analysis, she'd avoid that place for as long as she could. And keeping that in mind, he figured the X-Men would be heading not to Caldecott, but to the other location first. Therefore, to beat them to both books, he would have to beat them there as well.

He met the twins out by the curb. The three of them loaded their luggage in, climbed into the awaiting car, and left for the airport. Once boarded on the plane, they settled back. They had a long flight to Cairo ahead of them.

****

~~~~~~~~~~~

First thing about Mystique's coded messages, they never followed the same coding twice. Each code was unique in itself. They were simple. But most codes were, once the key was found. Problem with Mystique's was that the key had to be deciphered as well. The key was within the message itself, somewhere somehow the key was there. Rogue just had to find it.

And she wasn't doing very well.

Kaboom! Rogue had crumpled up another sheet of her notes, charged it up, and thrown it out the window to explode. She was surprised none of the other X-Men had come to her door to check up on her with all the exploding paper she'd tossed out her window in the last three hours.

Rogue stood up, stretched, and took a deep breath. She was half tempted to walk away from it—_and never look back_—and come back later. But, she knew she couldn't do that. The email would itch in her skull all the time until she solved it. Besides, she was stubborn. She'd stick it out until she got it... like always.

"The code was always meant for you. Use it like I taught you to. Make me and Irene proud. The code was always meant for you. Use it like I taught you to. Make me and Irene proud. The code was always meant for you. Use it like I taught you to. Make me and Irene proud. The code was always meant for you. Use it like I taught you to. Make me and Irene proud."

Over and over again she ran it through her head. Ran it through every combination of letters trying to find some mix match to solve the puzzle piece that would at least make all the hidden FLASH text stay on the screen long enough to work that out.

**__**

"Can Ah offer a suggestion?" Sad and edgy.

Rogue blinked. She wasn't in her room anymore. She was in her mindscape. Specifically, she was in Thirteen's domain. The etched reflective wall, the memorial, rose forever up and encircled the grassy patch, the headstone, and Rogue and Thirteen.

__

"Ya brought me here?"

Thirteen nodded.

__

"How?"

**__**

"The more of us that are here... the stronger we are," Thirteen said, gesturing to her reflection on the memorial.

Rogue looked to Thirteen's reflection. Sure enough, it was clearer, it was brighter, it was more there. Then it struck her, what Thirteen had really said. _"The more that are freed?"_

Thirteen nodded.

__

"Is there another one—"

**__**

"No." Thirteen shook her head. **_"One's probably about ta get out, though."_** Sad, edgy.

__

"Can ya tell—"

**__**

"No, Ah don't know who. No more than ya do."

Rogue nodded her assent and cringed inwardly, not easy since she was inside herself already. Then another dread struck her. _"What about Elev—"_

**__**

"Eleven? Her?" Thirteen cocked her head to the side in consideration. **_"Good question. It's hard ta answer. She's not exa—"_**

__

"Exactly bound by the same rules," Rogue said, her eyes widening, _"Some increase her strength, others weaken her, and why do we—"_

**__**

"—keep finishing each othah's sentences? Why do ya suddenly know so much?"

Rogue nodded.

**__**

"Ya know the answer. They're all—"

__

"All mine. Ya shared all of them. Your memories."

**__**

"YOAH memories," Thirteen said with a laugh. It was edgy. Her laughter spoke volumes of who and what she was. Her laughter revealed that even in glee she was waiting, no, expecting something horrible to strike at any moment, ending the reason for her laughter. 

Rogue knew the feeling well. She remembered feeling like that when she was thirteen. At thirteen, she had been nearly five years with Mystique and Irene and she still couldn't relax. Every moment of every day she was ready to bolt if she had to, to run, to hide, to be left on her own because she hadn't done well enough for Mystique and Irene. Or worse, if... if... if Someone found her. She couldn't remember who that Someone was, just that she feared that Someone. As a result, she was nervous all the time, edgy, and damn near obsessive-compulsive. Everything had to be ordered, organized, so she could run at a moment's notice. Everything had to be done perfectly, so she would know she earned her place with Mystique and Irene, her place in their home. Not her home, their home. _Their_ home. Mystique and Irene had become a little sad that Rogue didn't feel it was her home too. She took it as their disappointment in her. So she worked harder and harder, far beyond what Mystique and Irene had asked of her. She'd spent hours practicing fighting techniques, hours learning security systems, hours memorizing and cataloguing files for upcoming missions as well as files from their past mission—which made Thirteen's role as a librarian of the absorbed memories fitting. And every time Mystique or Irene questioned her for it, every time they softened towards her for it, she worked that much harder for their approval. In her twisted rationalization, their softening was pity, and she knew Mystique and Irene believed pity was reserved for those who were weak, lazy, and unworthy, and thus, she would never gain their approval. They pitied her and they didn't even know the truth. They didn't know what she'd done to end up living alone in the woods, fending for herself, at the tiny age of eight. They didn't know her dirty little secret. If they pitied her now, what would they think if they ever found out the secret? How could a vile creature such as herself ever earn their approval? She had so much to make up for. She couldn't remember what she had to make up for, but she knew it was horrible and she knew she had to make up for it. It would likely take forever. But she had to do it. She had to do it. 

Thirteen never got the chance. She was swallowed up by the Core before she could ever realize that Mystique and Irene were very tough, very strict, and very harsh on her partly because they were compensating for the contingencies that Rogue herself had placed on them with her reactions to their softening towards her. She never got to know that in doing so, Rogue had further endeared her self to them. She was swallowed up by the Core before she really had become part of their home, their family. It wasn't just Mystique and Irene. It became Mystique and Rogue and Irene. The Brotherhood became separate from them as a family. And they were a family—a dysfunctional family, by all standard accounts of what a family should typically be, but they were a family nonetheless. 

But now Thirteen knew. Now she knew. The sharing had been both ways.

__

"My memories," Rogue said. She knew the bravery it had taken for Thirteen to share as she did, she knew because it was a bravery she almost couldn't return, but, surprisingly, had_. "Your memories are mine, and mine are yours,"_ she added, wanting to pull Thirteen into a hug, but knowing Thirteen couldn't accept it and she couldn't do it. Instead they stood side by side, looking at their reflections—yes, THEIR reflections—in the memorial. Rogue and Thirteen were truly part of one another now. And as a result, Rogue had gained a reflection there as strong as Thirteen's reflection. 

Neither of them realized it, but they had not just completed another step towards Union. Rather, they had accomplished something much grander, much more precious. They had a Union all of their own.

But Impostor Eleven knew. Of course, Impostor Eleven was watching and knew. Only, she wasn't sure how she felt about it.

Rogue jolted. A revelation hit her. She met the eyes of Thirteen in the reflection. 

Thirteen nodded, sadly, her assent, and said, **_"Nineteen wasn't the only one who lied."_**

__

"So that's what Nineteen meant. SHE's not Eleven."

Sad. **_"She's not Eleven." _**Edgy**_._**

Impostor Eleven, eavesdropping like always, had a clearer idea of her feelings on Thirteen and Rogue's bonding. She didn't like it.

Rogue turned to face Thirteen's eyes for real, not just in the reflection, and said, _"And ya can't solve the code. Ah hadn't learned it yet before ya were swallowed. So, what's this help ya can offer me?"_

Thirteen jabbed her toes into the ground and gestured to the memorial. **_"It's just a suggestion. Ah don't know how much it'll help." _** She walked up to the memorial, touched an entry title and its file opened beneath it, extending from it. **_"A title has a purpose. It isn't just a heading. It isn't just a summary. It's part of the entry. The entry extends from it. The entry expands on it."_** She pulled her hand away and the entry was swallowed back into its title. Sad, edgy, **_"Don't just—"_**

__

"—ignore it," Rogue said, finishing for Thirteen. A blink later Rogue was sitting at her desk looking at the email.

To riverrat, Re: protégé, From: kilburn08@parendage.edu. "The code was always meant for you. Use it like I taught you to. Make me and Irene proud."

__

"Don't just ignore it." 

****

~~~~~~~~~~~

"Maaaaaaaaaaaaaaaammmmmmaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaa!" Lily screamed.

Corrin, the day maid, ran full speed into the child's room. Only, she never made it there, Lily was scrambling out of the room, her skinny prepubescent legs racing like she was crossing a plain of hot coals, tears streaming down her reddened cheeks, and slammed into Corrin. 

"Maaaaaaaaaaaaaaaammmmmmaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaa!" Lily screamed again. Well, not again, really. It was non-stop. It stopped with the end of her breath just to start again with her next intake.

Like clockwork, Corrin dropped to her knees to see Lily at eye level. Corrin wrapped her arms around Lily, holding her tight and patting her back reassuringly. 

"It's okay doll, it's okay," Corrin murmured, hushing her. "Ol' Corrin's heah, doll. No more bad dreams, doll, yer Corrin's heah now."

"Maaaaamaaaa! Maaaaaamaaaa!" Lily yelled. Corrin had only managed to lower the volume, but not to calm her. Lily was fighting Corrin's hold on her. She was pushing and shoving and pulling with all her might against the hefty maid. 

"Ohhhh, stop it now, Lily-doll," Corrin said, struggling to keep hold of Lily with one hand as she dabbed at Lily's tear streaked cheeks with the edge of her apron, "What kind a dream be this bad, Lily-doll. Shh now, yer ol' Corrin's gonna make it all better."

"Maaaa—" Lily stopped mid yell. She was still. Dead still. No movement. No breath. No blinking. Just wide eyes that seemed to look through Corrin. No, not there, but inside, they seemed to look inside Lily herself while positioned straight ahead. 

Corrin started shaking Lily, fearing—she didn't know what—but fearing the worst, nonetheless. 

Then Lily blinked. She focused her eyes dead on Corrin's and with a small intake of breath that sounded much like a sob, Lily whispered, "Mama's gone, Cor. She's gone..." Then she flung herself into Corrin's embrace.

"Oh, Lily-doll," Corrin continued murmuring as Lily sobbed as only a child could. "Yer mama's fine. She's just out walking by the river, doll. That's all. Ya just had a bad dream, that's all, Lily-doll, just a bad dream."

"Mama's gone, mama's gone, mama's gone," Lily kept whimpering over and over as she poured her tears into Corrin's breast as Corrin murmured to her and patted her back.

"Oh, doll, Ah promise yer mama's fine. It's just a bad dream. That's all. Just a silly bad dream. Yer mama's just out on one o' her walks." 

Lily wasn't calming down, though. Corrin didn't know what to do. Lily had bad dreams all the time, but usually Corrin could calm her down right quick to keep Lily from disturbing Mr. Beauregard. Couldn't disturb Mr. Beauregard, he was an important preacher. He had all sorts of business with politicians and such. And Mrs. Beauregard was important too. She did all sorts of charity work with the politician's wives. She was always busy, just like her husband, but she always made time for her Lily. Mrs. Beauregard would know how to ease Lily's troubles.

"How's this, Lily-doll," Corrin said, pulling back from Lily just far enough so that she could meet her eyes. "I gots us an ideah, Lily-doll. Why don't we go down and find yer mama? How's that sound?"

"No, no, Papa's theah!" Lily was terrified. "Don' make meh go, Cor, please! Papa's theah!"

****

~~~~~~~~~~~

"What the heck! Might as well try it," Rogue exclaimed as she typed and hit enter. She'd been staring at the message and it's entire title for twenty minutes, at least, but nothing brilliant connecting them together popped into her brain. She was no closer to finding the key than—

The web page actually pulled up. That surprised Rogue. She was expecting a notice that said 'page not found,' but sure enough there was a page there. 

__

This has to be wrong, Rogue thought as she skimmed over the supposed university website. _Ain't no way mama would make up an entire site like this just for a clue to an email._

It seemed like a typical college site, not that Rogue had visited many college sites, nor even heard of Parendage University before. But, it seemed on the up and up. There were listings of current events, majors, admissions, registration, financial aide, research specialties, faculty, awards—the school had just won a grant for chaos theory research—_Wait, didn't Ah just see something on that?_ Rogue scrolled back and found it. Under Research Specialties was a listing for Chaos Theory. _Mystique's always been up for makin' a little chaos herself..._

Rogue clicked on the link.

The new page highlighted both the Social Sciences department and the Natural Sciences departments, specifically the areas of Genetics and Physics. 

__

Well, there's a link if Ah ever saw one. Wonder if it's a real clue to solving this code or if it's just a wild goose chase. Wouldn't put it past Mystique to do that. She'd have a good laugh at me following lots of dead ends, and a lecture for me for not having kept up with it. Woah, what's that?

About half way down the page was an announcement of a public invited lecture in follow up to the grant the college won. The research project's biggest contributor, a Melissa R. Kilburn, was to be awarded a.... blah, blah blah. Rogue clicked on the link of the contributor's name.

__

Your starting to show, mama, Rogue thought. _Either Ah'm better at this than Ah thought Ah'd be after all this time or you're being easy on me. Missy is short for Melissa. Missy's what Ah called ya when Ah first came to live with ya. _ Rogue actually smiled with that memory. Mystique nearly had a fit at Rogue calling her that all the time. Eventually, Mystique had given up and just let it go, and that was when Rogue stopped calling her Missy. _R's gotta be for Rogue or Raven, one of the two. And Kilburn was on the name on the email. This is just too eas—_

Missy's page opened and there was a picture of Irene, big as life and twice as painful, with the name Melissa R. Kilburn written in a dainty cursive font underneath. That was all the affirmation Rogue needed. 

"Make me and Irene proud," Rogue said, reading from her notes. "Guilt was always a part of your arsenal, mama. And ya have never once thought twice about using it against me. Heck, Ah think ya go out of your way to use it against me."

Rogue skimmed the biography for Ms. Kilburn. "Born in... blah, blah, blah... when not visiting the progress of the research, she spends all her time with her adopted daughter—_more guilt_—blah, blah, blah... who inspired and drove her interest in the chaos theory research project—_more guilt_—blah, blah, blah... dedicated the endowment to the project to her—_lots more guilt_—blah, blah, blah... Ms. Kilburn's endowment speech was quoted in the project's slogan, 'The key—' There we go!"

Rogue grabbed her notepad and pen and jotted down the slogan, 'The key is in the simplicity of it,' and the completion of the quote, 'Even patterns become random when examined with that intent, and vice versa. When looking at the details, we can't forget to see the picture.'

__

That can't be all there is. Rogue skimmed through the rest of the page and found nothing else on it other than the picture and the biography and the site's search engine... _Search Engine, huh? Might as well try it..._

CODE. ENTER. NO MATCHES FOUND. 

__

Hmmm... that's funny. Something should've pulled up with that. The college has a statistics major and other math majors... code should've brought something up there. 

Rogue backed out to the main site. She went to the search engine there, noting that it looked different from the one on Melissa R. Kilburn page, and tried the search again.

CODE. ENTER. SEVENTEEN LISTINGS.

__

What? Wait a minute?!

Rogue returns to the Melissa R. Kilburn page.

CODE. ENTER. NO MATCHES FOUND.

It was a separate search engine. Rogue figured it was placed there for the deciphering the email. She just had to figure out the right words to get the search engine to respond with an actual answer.

KEY. ENTER. NO MATCHES FOUND. MYSTIQUE. NO MATCHES FOUND. ROGUE. NO MATCHES FOUND. IRENE. NO. DESTINY. NO. DIARY. NO. DESTINY'S DIARIES. NO. LIBRI VERITATUM. NO. PROTEGE. ONE MATCH.

__

Yes!

The link brought up a crossword puzzle. Rogue almost smashed her computer... but she didn't. She took a deep breath and backed out to the search page again. There, she looked over the message again, and thought and thought and thought. _"Re: Protégé. That brought up a puzzle for me to solve. Well, Ah get the little joke, mama. This is my puzzle to solve and ya ain't gonna just hand it to me. But, at least 'Protégé' got me somewhere. Seems like Thirteen was on to something."_

RIVERRAT. ENTER. EIGHT—MATCHES FOUND.

__

Woah. That can't be right. She backed out and did it again.

RIVERRAT. ENTER. EIGHT—MATCHES FOUND.

Rogue clicked on the first link. She was hasty. She didn't notice the difference between found messages. But, she would soon enough... she would soon enough.

The page opened. Like her email, the page was mostly blank, with one line in quotes. Before even reading the line, she ran the mouse pointer over the page... just in case. There was no flash of hidden bold text this time and Rogue sighed in relief. She grabbed her notepad and pen and wrote down this quote. 'Dripping with blood and with time and with your...' –Tori Amos.

Rogue did a double take on the page and her notes_. Okay, this CAN'T be right. Mystique's never been one for poetry, let alone modern song lyrics. _ That's when it struck her. It was quoted from Tori Amos' song, 'Mother.' _Ha ha, mama, very cute._ ...and she backed out to check the other seven remaining links that RIVERRAT had pulled up, only to find that they all led to the same place. 

Again, she backed out to the search engine on Melissa R. Kilburn page. To keep from getting too frustrated, and because the quote had put the song in her head, she started singing it to herself. "Dripping with blood and with time and with your advice poison me against the moon... Dripping with blood and..."

She looked over the email titling again, since that seemed to at least get her some sort of response. She already used 'riverrat', 'protege', 'Kilburn', and 'parendage.edu', and that meant she had nothing left from that... "Unless...? Mother... Parendage... Parentage... hmmmm..."

PARENTAGE. ENTER. EIGHT—MATCHES FOUND.

__

Ugh! Not again." She looked over the sites, and yes, they all went to the same place. This time all it said was, 'You're not paying attention, dear. What did Missy say? You're looking too hard. You're trying to make this into something its not. This word is not part of the message and the key is always in the message. You know better, I know you do, Rogue. I trained you better than this.'

__

Damn ya, mama. Ah can't do this. It's been too long!" To keep from smashing her computer to bits, she grabbed another wadded up scrap of paper, charged it, and threw it out the window. And again, and again, and again.

Kaboom! Kaboom! Kaboom! Kaboom! 

Thump-thump-thump—"Oh Merde!"—THUMP!

Rogue looked out and saw Gambit on the ground beneath her window. He was sprawled on his backside, his trench coat twisted and partially fanned out around him, and looking like he'd had the wind knocked out of him. Apparently, he'd been outside her window, about to knock on it.

"What was dat for, chere?" He asked as she leaned out her window looking down at him. She didn't grin as he'd expected her to.

"Why can't ya use the door?!" She yelled and slammed the window shut. Still, the surprised look on his face as she did so was enough to calm her mood again. She chuckled to herself, _Stubborn swamp rat..._

She actually felt renewed as she sat back down and looked at the computer screen. _Well, she's right about that. It doesn't say anything about parentage. So, lets take another last look at what it does say._

Again, she started singing the Tori Amos song, 'Mother', as she looked over the entire email, "Dripping with blood and with time and with your advice... Advice! That's it!"

ADVICE. ENTER. ONE MATCH. CLICK.

Mystique's message read, "Ask me no questions and I'll tell you no lies. Ask the right questions, and, well... if you don't ask, you'll never know, will you?"

Rogue beamed. Mystique and Irene used to get so angry with her when she wouldn't just ask them when she didn't understand something. She always had to do it herself, usually by taking the long way around to figure it out... just like now. _So, why not just ask?_

WHAT IS THE KEY? ENTER. NOT FOUND. HOW DO I SOLVE THIS? ENTER. NOT FOUND. WHY ARE YOU DOING THIS TO ME? ENTER. ONE MATCH. CLICK.

Mystique's message read, "You know this, Rogue. I taught you this for a reason. I know you can figure this out. It's not even a completely knew one. Remember it?"

__

If I remembered it, would Ah be asking this danged computer these stupid questions? She complained about it, but she followed Mystique's orders. She had no choice but to follow them. Even when she staked her independence from Mystique by joining the X-Men, a part of her still heeded her foster mother. A part of her still always answered when Mystique called for her. A part of her would always belong to the first person to give her a home... a family, even if it had been on accident.

Parentage. Parendage. Par-end-age. Par. End. Age. Par—French—by. End—?. Age—German—Alter.

"Hmmm?" Rogue wondered aloud with amusement, "French and German... always French and German. How did I not see it before?"

And then she remembered.

****

~~~~~~~~~~~

A gift. No reason. It was just sitting there, mocking her, on her unmade bed when she returned from a mission. Just one more mission in a long line of missions that blurred together. She couldn't even count the number of faceless-nameless people she popped from a far off tree or rooftop with her sniper rifle. She always got an arm or a leg, somewhere to disable, but not kill, not if Mystique wasn't breathing into her ear about it. She told Mystique a million excuses for her lack of kills, but Mystique never believed one of them. Rogue could hit a moving target on a windy, snowing, freezing day with hardly an effort. She couldn't remember the number of men she'd charmed to get into an authorized personnel only entrance... or women, either. Though, with women, it was usually the tearful, 'my asshole boyfriend just blah, blah, blah...' that had won her entrance. The men, though... Well, the men always wanted to have what was out of reach, what they were forbidden to touch. She couldn't even list the number of locks she'd picked, vents she'd climbed through, kicks she'd landed, or punches, or elbows, or choke holds, or kisses—No, those she could count. It had become her trademark, and Mystique hadn't liked it. Rogue hadn't understood why. Mystique had taught Rogue how to exploit her femininity for their missions, and Rogue had seen Mystique sleep with more than six men for the same reason since she'd first come to live with her. 

__

Screw Mystique, she'd thought, _If Ah can't kiss for pleasure, Ah'll do it for pain._

Rogue reluctantly opened the gift, slowly and laden with dread. Inside the pink papered box—_musta been Irene—she just won't accept that Ah can't stand pink_—was a portable CD player and several CD's. She looked at the top one and the one below it, and then stormed out of her room, hollering at the top of her angry lungs, "Mama, what the hell kinda present is this. More French and German. All Ah do is train and go on your missions and now yer are invadin' the only luxury Ah get. Ya don't give me music, no, ya give me more of these damned language CDs. This is such bullshit!"

When she finished her tirade, she was in the tearoom, facing Mystique and Irene, who were sitting intimately close sipping hot tea together. Mystique's face contorted with her rising anger, but Irene, gently, calmly set her cup of tea down and rested a hand on Mystique's arm. Mystique immediately sobered her anger.

"Did you look through all of the CDs, Rogue dear?" Irene asked.

Rogue scrunched up her face. She didn't want to admit that she hadn't. She didn't want Irene to be right. "Not the point. Even if ya gave me real music, the gift's tainted with yer damned training CDs. Ah'm sick o' this. Ah can't wait till Ah'm outta heah!"

"Then why don't you leave?" Mystique said, no longer able to contain her slowly building anger at Rogue's outburst. "We're not stopping you."

"Raven," Irene placated, again trying to soothe her with a gentle hand on her arm. This time it didn't work.

"No, Irene," Raven said, shaking her head gravely. "No more. It's her choice. I'm tired of trying to convince her..." She trailed off and turned her attention to Rogue. "Go if you want to," She told Rogue point blank. "Go fend for yourself in the hick woods of Mississippi. I'll even drop you off where I found you if you want."

Rogue went stone still. She couldn't believe Mystique said it. She always knew it would come to it someday. She always knew Mystique never really wanted her there. She always knew she was nothing more than a tool, a weapon, to them... even before she had her cursed powers. Rogue released a long sigh of relief. Now that the moment had come, she didn't have to worry about it anymore; her years of anticipation had come to an end. 

"Fine," Rogue said. It was quiet. It was eerily serene. There was no rebellion in it. There was no anger in it. There was no sadness in it. It was purely relief. "I'll go pack."

Rogue turned to leave, got to the door, then turned back. The sight of Irene comforting Mystique startled her, but as she spoke, they broke from each other and looked at Rogue with harder eyes then they had displayed to each other. "Can Ah take some o' mah clothes and stuff... CDs and all. Ah won't take much. Ah'll only take what Ah can carry."

"You can take anything that is yours, Rogue dear." Irene said, a little confused. _Why would Rogue think she couldn't take her clothes?_

"Thanks. Ah'll pay ya back fer 'em... soon as Ah can." She started out the door again.

"You don't have to do that Rogue. Those things are your—"

"Don't," Mystique said. It was her turn to rest a hand on Irene's arm. "Just don't." She kept her attention on Irene as she added to Rogue, "Do whatever you want, Rogue... just do it quickly."

"Kay..." She took one last look around the room and at the two who had raised her since she was eight years old and smiled. She smiled. "Thanks fer lettin' meh stay fer a while."

Up in her room, Rogue packed quickly, just as Mystique had instructed her. She didn't take anything frivolous; she'd be walking so she literally could only take what she could carry. It wasn't like she was ever really into the slinky dresses Mystique had gotten her. Those dresses had always been purchased for missions, anyway. She did take two of her stuffed animals, though. However, she couldn't fit both of them in her backpack. She had what she figured as almost a week's worth of clothing in her backpack. She had three pairs of jeans, eight long sleeved tees, bras, socks, underwear, and gloves. She also had her life's savings in it too. So, in order to take the treasured stuffed animals she had to squish one of the stuffed animals inside the backpack and tied the other one to the loop at the top. She also really wanted to take the CD player, but for some reason that just didn't seem right. Just looking at it made her feel guilty for some reason. Besides, even though it was an oversized camping backpack, it was already packed tight.

But, what the heck... she figured it would be a going away gift... almost like someone knew she would be leaving.

She set down her bag on her bed, pulled out the second stuffed animal and tied it like she'd tied the first one. Then she shoved the portable CD player and a few CDs off her dresser in the stuffed gator's place. As she picked up her backpack again, she knocked over the pink papered box, sending it over the edge of the bed, and spilling its contents onto the floor. 

Rogue froze at what was there. There had been over a dozen CDs in the box. The top two were 'Advanced Conversational French' and 'Advanced Conversational German.' But those were the only two of those. There was also Cyndi Lauper, The Pixies, The Cure, The Clash, Janis Joplin, Johnny Cash, The Smiths, Morrissey, and others... there were also three other language CDs: 'Italian for beginners,' 'Intermediate Italian,' and 'Conversational Italian.' 

Rogue had been begging to go to Venice for almost a year.

Every time Rogue had brought up Italy and Venice, Mystique had responded with some version of "Didn't you get enough of that stuff in Caldecott?" or " Wasn't the Mighty Mississippi enough for ya?" And every time, Rogue had thrown a fit, spouting off how she was sick of studying French and German, and how since they were always traipsing off to France and Germany—granted, on missions—why couldn't they, just once, stop over in Venice for a few days. Mystique and Irene had made Rogue study French and German specifically for the abundance of missions that were taking them to those parts. Mystique and Irene always insisted on being prepared. Language CDs for learning Italian could thus only mean one thing.

Rogue looked at the three CDs and her heart broke. It bloomed and it broke.

Rogue burst into the tearoom again. "We're goin' ta Venice?!" Rogue exclaimed, panting, through tears. 

Irene found it hard to suppress her laughter, but she managed it. 

Mystique stood, confident, forceful, and direct, and said, "So NOW you're staying?"

A long pause.

Rogue almost choked on her words as she said, "I'll go." Though, she didn't move. She just stood there, exposing the frightened, stubborn, surviving child, who had chortled into the edgy, bottled, perfectionist, raging teenager, who was brimming on becoming the independent, intelligent, skillful, hardened, Mystique protégé of a woman. 

In that moment, as Mystique held her gaze, Rogue was a cup so full of scalding coffee that a sprinkle of sugar, a dollop of cream would send her teetering over. Which way she went? Well, that resided completely in Mystique's next few words.

Mystique suddenly felt as fragile as Rogue looked.

****

~~~~~~~~~~~

Sinister was not a happy person. Things were moving much more quickly than he had anticipated. He hated it when his subjects came to fruition before his calculations had assured him they would. Since he had awoken that morning and did a routine check of the incoming signal from the collars he had altered for Rogue, the discovery that the signal had been cut off had usurped all of his time. There was only one reason for that. The power for the signal was drained. There were only three possible reasons for that. One, the X-Men had figured out that the collars were linked more directly to him and had decided to destroy them. That one had been ruled out because Sinister had destroyed all the rest of the collars on Genosha, which meant the two collars the X-men currently had in their possession were among the last working collars in the world. And knowing their resident doctor, Henry McCoy, he wouldn't chance Rogue's life in his hands without keeping at least one of those collars as a precaution. Second, the X-Men could have figured what the purpose was of the alterations Sinister made in the collars, and, miraculously, found a way to sever the signals. That one was ruled out because Sinister concluded that they had not had sufficient time or technology to accomplish that yet. Though, it was not out of the realm of possibility that it could occur over the next few weeks. Third, Rogue had gone an enormous distance outside the signal's range for a long enough amount of time that the signal drained itself of power. Sinister decided that was the most logical evaluation.

However, knowing that didn't help him solve it. Rogue would have to wear one of the collars, or at the very least hold it for more than fifteen minutes so the self-cycling power supply would charge enough to sustain the signal on a tertiary level. At tertiary level, the collars would send and receive the signals like normal, as long as Rogue was within a mile of the collar for a twenty-four hour period. After that, the collars would sustain themselves in normal operating order. They would continue to send and receive the signal and sustain their own power as long as Rogue was not beyond a fifty-mile radius for more than five hours. Getting Rogue to wear one or even hold it from his location would not be an easy task.

That's where Impostor Eleven would've come in. The collars' were directly linked with her. He had known of her since Rogue had absorbed him all those years ago during the entire Ms. Pryor ordeal and he had not only survived the absorption, but had taken over her incredibly powerful mutant body and returned to his own mind with all memories of the experience intact. The only problem was that he had also lost the connection with Impostor Eleven. He went back over all of his data and concluded that the connection was lost only a few minutes after she had ceased her tormenting of Magneto. Without Impostor Eleven supplying a reason for Rogue needing to come into contact with the collars, he only had two options left. He either had to wait and hope some reason would occur naturally for her to need the collars. And, he wasn't that patient. Or, he had to supply a reason. That meant going to her or bringing her to him.

Sinister flipped through the files he had on the X-Men's search for the diaries. He had no interest in the diaries themselves, why should he, he didn't let the future happen, he made it become what he wanted it to become. No diary would make a difference. Besides, what he had seen of the diaries—he glanced at the video monitor holding Magneto—extended to more political and social realms, and he had never had any interest in those things. No, his sole interests had been in science, in studying and forging the perfect living being... the thing that would help sever his ties to Apocalypse once and for all. And his sole interest in the diaries was in where their locations would cause the X-Men to travel. He couldn't allow his subjects to be gallivanting all over the world without having knowledge of their precise movements, now could he? If he did, what kind of scientist would that make him? A negligent one, and Sinister was not negligent.

Sinister had plans for Rogue. With the onset of Union, Sinister would use Rogue as the ultimate test subject. In one being, and with the right technology, he would be able to study every single mutation in existence on his command. He could then use those results to combine the perfect melding of mutations into his perfect being. Then, with his cloning techniques and through breeding techniques, he could forge hundreds of thousands, millions of these perfect beings. But, he was getting ahead of himself, now. He was foolishly envisioning his endgame before he even completed the first step, the study of Rogue following Union. If he did not have her at the precise moment before Union occurred, well, then, he may not be able to subdue her to his tests. To determine when Union was sufficiently near, he needed Rogue in his possession or in contact with the collars... And he would not accomplish that by envisioning his endgame. 

Sinister reviewed his notes and sighed. He had two choices for locations, Cairo and Caldecott. Caldecott was hot this time of the year. He couldn't fathom why Mystique had stayed there for so long after taking in Rogue. His research had told him that she and Irene had done it in order to help Rogue grow comfortable and trusting of them as quickly as possible. They wanted to help her adjust to the new situation. Eventually, they learned the error of their ways and moved on. _One should never permit a weapon's emotional welfare to direct the wielder. No,_ he added, his thoughts drifting to Gambit, _No, the wielder should use the emotional welfare to direct the weapon._

Sinister opened a file on Gambit. A few keystrokes and up on the monitor popped Gambit's genetic coding and the estimated results when combined in certain breeding combinations.

"Ahh, Gambit, it has been too long," Sinister said as he reviewed the breeding estimations. A sly and curious grin twisted his demonic features. "I do hope to see you in Caldecott."

****

~~~~~~~~~~~

She remembered. But, not quite enough. She was close, so close, though.

"Awww, Mama," Rogue said, leaning back in her chair and eyeing a photo of her, Mystique, and Irene, in one of their happier moments. In the picture, Rogue was maybe nine or ten, it was before her powers manifested, and the three of them were laughing and hugging... bare skin to bare skin. Rogue was suddenly very grateful for those few years of embraces before her powers manifested. "Mama, we were so hard on each other. We were just what the other needed."

Rogue allowed herself the pleasure of the moment for a moment. Then, again, she took a deep breath and returned to the coded email.

To riverrat, Re: protégé, From: kilburn08@parendage.edu. "The code was always meant for you. Use it like I taught you to. Make me and Irene proud."

So she had run all of the title through the search engine on the Melissa R. Kilburn page and she'd pretty much exhausted it. She'd even figured out why the use of Parendage. Par—by, in French. End—End, in English. Age—Alter, in German. She figured those to be keystrokes. By typing and holding End and Alt keys, something would happen. She tried it, in several combinations over the text, but nothing had worked, so she was still missing something.

Also, there was one more thing itching in her brain about the titling. Now, the rest of the title made sense, even the use of the name Melissa and the middle initial R. But, one thing did not. Why use Kilburn as a last name in the first place? Rogue still hadn't figured that one out. And even more so, why use Kilburn08 as the screen name. She checked the faculty and both search engines on the college site and there was only one Kilburn and that was Melissa. There was no need for a number to follow the name, let alone one as random as 08.

Rogue scrambled through her notes and reread the Kilburn quote. It said, "The key is in the simplicity of it. Even patterns become random when examined with that intent... and vice versa. When looking at the details, we can't forget to see the picture."

"Random... vice versa... so it's definitely not random. She used Kilburn08 for a reason. But it beats me what that reason is..." Rogue sat down her notes and began typing. "Might as well ask it."

WHY KILBURN08? ENTER. ONE MATCH. CLICK.

"Ahh, Rogue, if we knew that, we wouldn't be doing this at all, now would we? I'm sure we'll know it in the end, though."

"Hmmmm... Well, that was cryptic." Rogue chewed the end of her pen as she thought. "Or maybe it's not."

Looking at the email address with new insight, she removed the @ and factored in the Parendage connection to see... Kilburn08 by End Alt. Perhaps, the cryptic message meant that she would find the answer to why Kilburn08 in solving the coded message. With that in mind, Rogue tried a new tactic with the keystrokes. She highlighted the entire body of the email, even the annoying blank space that flashed when her mouse pointer floated across it. She highlighted it, then, with her right hand, she held down ALT and END, and with her left hand she typed kilburn08.

VOILA! 

The flash test was visible and the original visible message was now centered in it... It looked like this.

****

KNRNEUXUMZLETXMEXAXTTXLKNIIXMNRIXTIEOXAEAKNRNXEUXUATDXIEBESSBUUUENRXNK OIEATNEXETARXEANTIRXFOVNRPETXXHERLSXSRXCOIEXAXTNETIXNXESSEXREVOENTXAEIO DCXICWORXIFIVNSRDXNEEDXIIEREEXNTAXEEECXCXDCICXWOXRTREEXIGENEHXEROWCXICD IHRHISCNXIHAOIEIXEENXIECRXXERNEEUXNRCOXIIXHRHISCXLFXEXNTOIMEMXECSXIXHXRXHI ETEXIREOGXGRTNNVXXESITERXHAIKAXNEXSTEHMAEXTEXIREOMXEINGESCHUTOXXERIETXE RWNHXARMELEXEOSEBSGORVTSRL!XCTTFXUZXOPLXRWNHARMZTXFIGLXIADEXLMRAHNWR EIXENUEPSIXRRXSTSXEXEXEIEOXWXEEAHOWXINPUXIIEIEXXNUEPLA!XIHRERMXUTTPEUNEIE NREEXSXZICAXMSERXSSXRNMKNIXIXMNRIXTIEXOAXEAXNREXEXSZIXEXRATERSPESIZSEERN VERNFPAHDUPNSOSEEEEXOWEEAHXOWXINPUIXIVXERNFPAXXTENOXNOSXEXNIGAPFXNREV IRKTIXAXCUETXEIXXLXLXBXVHMRVXTSRLCTXTFXUZOPLIXRXKTIACMXA!XSINSTRSLICAITKRI EALOESCTLTSGIDUXOEEERHAIKAXNESTEHMAXXEALOESCXXENREVXXEXSSOLXXDCSEOLAE RXSAXTLEIMXZLXETMEXXATXTLXXIECXRERNEXEXUNRCXOIRXSATLEIATDIEBESSBUIELTASR VEREECAETAREAXXNTIRFXX!DIIEXREENTAEXEXECCVEREEXCXATINEXXSSEREVOXACEEREV OMTXTXNHLIFIVXNSXRDNEEOXVNXRPETHERXXLSSRXCOMT!TNHLTRXEEIGENEXHELHNTTMO IPXEETXOINIHXAOIXEIEENKNXXIIMNXRITIXEXOAEAXIPEEXXTOILXFX!ENTOXIMEMEIXOTEEPXI

XXXXThe code was always meant for you. Use it like I taught you to. Make me and Irene proud.**XXXX **

IPXEETXOINIHXAOIXEIEENKNXXIIMNXRITIXEXOAEAXIPEEXXTOILXFX!ENTOXIMEMEIXOTEEPXI OMTXTXNHLIFIVXNSXRDNEEOXVNXRPETHERXXLSSRXCOMT!TNHLTRXEEIGENEXHELHNTTMO VEREECAETAREAXXNTIRFXX!DIIEXREENTAEXEXECCVEREEXCXATINEXXSSEREVOXACEEREV RXSAXTLEIMXZLXETMEXXATXTLXXIECXRERNEXEXUNRCXOIRXSATLEIATDIEBESSBUIELTASR EALOESCTLTSGIDUXOEEERHAIKAXNESTEHMAXXEALOESCXXENREVXXEXSSOLXXDCSEOLAE IRKTIXAXCUETXEIXXLXLXBXVHMRVXTSRLCTXTFXUZOPLIXRXKTIACMXA!XSINSTRSLICAITKRI VERNFPAHDUPNSOSEEEEXOWEEAHXOWXINPUIXIVXERNFPAXXTENOXNOSXEXNIGAPFXNREV NREEXSXZICAXMSERXSSXRNMKNIXIXMNRIXTIEXOAXEAXNREXEXSZIXEXRATERSPESIZSEERN EIXENUEPSIXRRXSTSXEXEXEIEOXWXEEAHOWXINPUXIIEIEXXNUEPLA!XIHRERMXUTTPEUNEIE RWNHXARMELEXEOSEBSGORVTSRL!XCTTFXUZXOPLXRWNHARMZTXFIGLXIADEXLMRAHNWR ETEXIREOGXGRTNNVXXESITERXHAIKAXNEXSTEHMAEXTEXIREOMXEINGESCHUTOXXERIETXE IHRHISCNXIHAOIEIXEENXIECRXXERNEEUXNRCOXIIXHRHISCXLFXEXNTOIMEMXECSXIXHXRXHI DCXICWORXIFIVNSRDXNEEDXIIEREEXNTAXEEECXCXDCICXWOXRTREEXIGENEHXEROWCXICD OIEATNEXETARXEANTIRXFOVNRPETXXHERLSXSRXCOIEXAXTNETIXNXESSEXREVOENTXAEIO KNRNEUXUMZLETXMEXAXTTXLKNIIXMNRIXTIEOXAEAKNRNXEUXUATDXIEBESSBUUUENRXNK

Now, she just had to decipher the actual text. Fun.

****

~~~~~~~~~~~

Vargas and the twins were exiting the plane. Vargas had a very cautious and curios look to him. He stopped and pulled out one of the diaries and a magnifying glass. He flipped to the page with the picture of Rogue huddled over the mound of people, including Vargas. He eyed the repetitive wording, the darkened etches, that arched over the figures.

He read, "seethed not dead you but not you total access guard of the guardian ignorant confidence weakness is strength unleashed seething remembered seethed not dead you but not you total access guard of the guardian ignorant confidence weakness is strength unleashed seething seethed not dead... " It continued the repetition several more times before, however, this time, he noticed what he did not notice the first time he had examined it [1]. This time he noticed which word did not repeat, the one word that was stated only a single time in the entire sequence. This time he noticed the significance of that word. 'REMEMBERED.' It was suddenly a beacon.

He replaced the precious diary into his carry-on. He turned to the twins and said, "Continue here, I'm going ahead to Caldecott."

They regarded him with curiosity. Before the entire Khan incident, they never questioned him. But, since then, he'd become a man obsessed with defeating Rogue like she were his personal demon, tenfold. Now, they questioned him.

"Why?" Thais asked. 

Vargas almost didn't answer. But, he needed them to perform their duty to him. He needed them to retrieve the diary here in Cairo while he went to Caldecott. So, he answered, "Because if Rogue remembers, it all comes to pass. Caldecott is where she forgot."

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

FOOTNOTES:

[1] That was all the way back in Chapter One – Aware. I bet all of you thought I had forgotten little bit about the repetitive sequence. There actually is a purpose to my madness... and complicated plot. It is all planned out. And there is so much more to come.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~


	13. Chapter 13 Raze

****

A/N: Rogue works out the email code completely in this chapter. But, even though I played with the format, a lot of the format I used to illustrate her working out the code was still lost in transferring to HTML, so please follow it as best as you can. ~_~ooooooo

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Seether

Chapter Thirteen - Raze

By Randirogue

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

"Here, here, now, don't cry, you raised your hand for the assignment. Tuck those ribbons under your helmet, be a good soldier. First my left foot then my right behind the other..." (Mother –by Tori Amos)

Venice, Italy... A city of romance, if approached with that frame of mind. An intimate gondola gliding along the canals. Amber light from two or three lanterns, illuminating the sweet couple with a honeyed glow. Stars reflecting like liquid diamonds on the surface of the water wink at the couple with every willow of the water. The comfort of an aroused embrace slipping the couple into a golden trance of reverie and joy. One lover nuzzled closer for a kiss. And the other almost gave in. But she hesitated... and she knew why, and it was no secret she was scared. And then she decided to indulge, to savor the opportunity. But fireworks ignited overhead and she laughed because she flinched when the shots rang out... But, his wet lips on her neck interrupted her laughter and she melted, 'cause he's trailing the wet kisses, suckling just a little, down to her collar and lower and... and... 

__

And he's touching mah bare skin! Rogue thought and jerked away. The man's body fell limp. He had been shot in the head. The Gondolier had been shot as well.

...and the kisses were still trailing lower...

Rogue wiped her hand on her neck. It's blood. It was his blood trickling down her neck to her collar and lower... and she'd thought it was kisses. She almost cried with the revelation of it. But, Rogue didn't cry very often. No, she got mad instead. Later... later she could cry. But, now, now was the time for anger.

Thump!

Rogue was jolted as the gondola bumped into the canal side. A shadow plunged the lover into darkness. Rogue looked up to the shadow's source. Rogue's daggers were already in her hands and she hadn't even realized she'd pulled them. She saw the man's murderer.

"Mama!"

"What did you think you were doing, Rogue?" Mystique said, tucking away her pistol, and offering a hand to yank Rogue up to the bank. "You're on an assignment, not the Love Boat!" 

"The what? Love Boat?" Rogue said, grimacing as she returned her daggers to their hiding places. Rogue ignored the proud smile Mystique donned when she saw that Rogue had unconsciously drawn the daggers. She took Mystique's offered hand and climbed to the bank.

"I shouldn't have to come out and drag you back to the rendezvous point," Mystique snapped as she yanked Rogue along the darkened storefronts. The shops had long ago closed up in this part of Venice and most everyone had gone off to the Giudecca Island for Festa del Redentore, a religious festivity that celebrated the end of a terrible plague that had devoured the city's inhabitants in 1576 [1]. Hundreds of boats decorated with multicolored balloons and branches traveled the canals to the Basilica del Redentore, a temple honoring Christ the Redeemer on the Giudecca Island. The boats congregated in the Giudecca canal and in St. Mark's Basin and people gathered in throngs along the twinkling palace balconies and banks to dine and watch the spectacle of sound and lights that were to build and build into an evocative climatic fireworks display. 

The pinnacle was not far off now.

"Ya didn't have ta come an' get meh," Rogue groused, "Ah knew the time, ah didn't have ta meet up with ya'll foah anothah half hour at least!"

The crowds cheered, "Hooray! Eccellente! Yaaay! Bello!" Though, their cheers were getting fainter and fainter the further away Mystique led Rogue away from Basilica del Redentore. With every step that she accompanied Mystique, Rogue felt she was slipping further and further away from not only the festival, but from her chance at redemption. Even the fireworks were falling behind the heights of the buildings that lined the canals.

"You hear that?" Mystique asked as she spun them around a corner, and jerked Rogue to a stop. Another faint wave of cheers rolled through the canals, echoing off the emptied buildings. "Do you?"

"Ah hear 'em!"

"Shh," Mystique snarled, "We're striking at the peak of the fireworks, Rogue. Does that sound like their far off?"  


Rogue listened again, begrudging Mystique as indeed another wave of cheers rolled through Venice to reach them. Still, she wasn't giving into Mystique that easily. Rogue had been on so many missions similar to this one they were like breathing to her at this point. "Ah had it under control," Rogue snapped as she yanked free of Mystique's grasp.

Mystique frowned cynically at Rogue, then checked her watch. "Fifteen minutes left, come on," she said as she continued along the banks and across a bridge. This time she allowed Rogue to walk on her own instead of being dragged like a misbehaving five-year-old. Soon, The shadowed figures of Irene, Pyro, Blob, and Avalanche swam into their July-humid view ahead of them. 

"Cutting it close," Irene said. She gave Rogue a knowing turn of expression as Mystique and Rogue joined them.

"Rogue had to indulge her romantic fantasies with her target before I took him out for her," Mystique answered.

"Romantic fantasies?!" Rogue screeched. She couldn't believe this was happening. 

"We don't have time for this, Mystique," Irene said, placating, "The child can be punished later, but if we do not finish this before—"

"I know!" It came out harsher than Mystique had meant it to, but she couldn't let Irene announce that possibility in front of Rogue. "Blob, Pyro, Avalanche, go to your positions in St. Mark's square. Irene, skip the Doge's Palace and go ahead to San Giorgio Maggiore. Rogue will accompany me to the meeting outside the Palace."

"Raven," Irene began, "I must insist—"

"No, we will do it this way!"

Irene merely nodded in a sorrowful defeat. She looked to Rogue and said, "Fare well, child, and bide your time," then left. 

****

~~~~~~~~~~~

Lily behaved as expected... sort of. She stood in the greeting line, beside her father, while mourners, one by one, gave their condolences as they passed out of her father's church before they headed to the church's banquet room. 

Flaccid expression. Dim and damp eyes. Hand in hand. A gracious nod to acknowledge appreciation of the guest's attendance. 

Next person.

Flaccid expression. Dim and damp eyes. Hand in hand. A gracious nod to acknowledge appreciation of the guest's attendance.

Next person. And another. And another. And another... 

There were a lot of mourners attending. Mrs. Beauregard was well liked in the local community, by the congregation, by the politicians, with whom Father Beauregard mingled, and their wives, and their security officers. 

Next person. And another. And another...

Lily spoke not one word through the entire procession, funeral services, or mourning line, and wasn't likely to speak during the after gathering in the banquet hall either.

Next person. And another. And another. Flaccid, dim, damp, touch, nod, flaccid, dim, damp, touch, nod, flaccid, dim, damp, touch, nod, flaccid, dim... until the last.

Lily made for the banquet hall entrance, but her father halted her. His arm snaked down to her prepubescent waist, under her arm, which she'd held so tightly against her side to prevent just that type of caress. 

"We will enter together, Lilly," Her father said. His fingers gently massaged her waist, sliding up the few inches just under her more secret area. All went unnoticed by anyone who may have peaked in and saw them. He had perfected his performance of his secret gesture. After all, he'd been doing it for a long time.

Then he swept open the hall doors, ushering her in with another gentle squeeze so near her secret place round her side, keeping her at his side all the while. They made their way to the head of the room together in that manner. Then he gave his speech, thanking all for attending, and inviting them to partake in the catered food, and to mingle with their fellow mourners. 

Leave it to Father Beauregard to make even his wife's funeral into an opportunity to strike up new connections and solidify straining ones. The entire time, Lily kept silent, only speaking when asked questions, repeating her flaccid—dim—damp—touch—nod as she watched her father repeat his teary—head bow—handshake—sigh to every influential individual in the hall. Yes, he was very opportunistic. 

...And wasn't it convenient that he had reached the River just after Lily's mother had been dragged too far out into the flooded, raging waters...

Lily was trying to figure so much out. She didn't understand what she was feeling. With her mother's death, something died in her... and something else was born. Something small and weak, and specific had been born. Was it just her raw and amplified emotions that were letting her see her father as though he was encased in a clear glass cast? Was it just her raw and amplified emotions that were letting her see that glass cast take the form of her father's teary—head bow—handshake—sigh? Was it just her raw and amplified emotions that were letting her see underneath the glass cast, see the energetic alacrity shivering impatiently for its chance to shatter through that glass cast and burst free?

If so, Lily's emotions were raw and amplified for years and years to follow.

****

~~~~~~~~~~~

By the time the contact showed up, Rogue and Mystique had both simmered down a bit, though Mystique was still a bit on edge. It was starting to unnerve Rogue. Mystique was always confident, if not content, while on a mission. Mystique's currently strange behavior was really unsettling Rogue, especially when a lone figure crossed the square, hobbling towards them, Mystique repeatedly flicked her attention between the man and Rogue. It was as though she were watching for Rogue's reaction.

"What is yoah deal, ma—"

"Shh!" Mystique snapped.

Rogue scoffed, crossed her arms, and looked away. She couldn't wait till this mission was over. Maybe then she'd actually get to enjoy Venice a little bit. _It's not like it's a big thing, anyway. It's just some meeting. Don't even know why Ah even had ta target that guy. This is such a waste..._

Rogue's thoughts were interrupted. The man had reached them. Training took over and she stood at the ready. She appeared calm and relaxed, leaning back against the column with her arms crossed over her chest, but she was tuned, she was alert, and her weapons were no more than a fraction of a blink's length from use.

The man said nothing at first. He didn't even look to Mystique for the first thirty seconds or so while he stared at the young teenager that accompanied her. Rogue tried to ignore the scrutiny, avoiding direct eye contact to keep from squirming from the strange attention. And just before Rogue decided just to take him out for comfort's sake, he turned to Mystique and spoke.

The man asked, "This is her?"

__

Huh? That really got Rogue's attention. What the heck does this guy want with me? 

Mystique scowled. "Do you have to even ask?"

"She could be a shapeshifter, like you," the man countered.

"She's not."

"How can I trust tha—"

"I don't have to prove anything. You KNOW it's her, Mar—"

A hand raised. "I know... I just..."

"It doesn't matter," Mystique said, her eyes darting around the square. She shifted from one foot to the other. She refused to look at Rogue. Rogue knew these as telltale signs of nervousness, of weakness in a target. Rogue knew them because Mystique had taught them to her. She'd never seen Mystique display them before... ever... especially on a mission and it was upsetting Rogue. Rogue fingered her garrote, which was easily accessible with her arms crossed as they were.

"And Leandro?" The man asked.

"Just as you said," Mystique answered.

The man nodded.

Cheers reverberated through the square from across St. Mark's Basin. "Ripetizione. Horray! Più! Yaaay! Ancora! Woohoo! Bello! Eccellente!" It was the finale of the fireworks. Some of the highest flare-bursts could easily be seen topping the Doge's Palace and St. Mark's. It clamored on and on as Rogue focused on the man, trying to get a bead on him, but his oversized coat disguised his size and shape and his hat shadowed his face entirely. The man before her was basically featureless and it made Rogue paranoid. There was nothing she could see to identify him. She didn't like blind meetings like this, and she really didn't like how Mystique was reacting to the guy, but before Rogue could say anything, Mystique spoke again.

"I've paid your price, you've seen her," Mystique said, grabbing hold of Rogue's arm and attempting to leave.

"Wait," the man said, grabbing hold of Rogue's other arm to stop them from going. Desperation made his oversized coat shiver.

Rogue threw a venomous look to him, but he ignored it. She didn't like being in this prone position between the two of them. Not only did it prevent quick access to any of her weapons but it also made her a prize between the two of them and she didn't even know why. No, she didn't like this situation at all. Mystique was too nervous. Rogue had no line of sight to Blob, Pyro, or Avalanche. Irene had warned against handling the meeting like this. And this man was touching her. He was TOUCHING her. 

"Let go o' meh!" Rogue said as she yanked her arms from both of them. The motion threw both Mystique and the man off balance. Rogue ignored Mystique for the moment, choosing to handle the man herself. She kicked his shin. He bent forward. She grabbed his head shoving it down as she raised her knee to meet his face. Crack! His nose broke. 

CLICK! CLICK! CLICK! CLICK! CLICK! CLICK!

Rogue didn't even look to verify the sounds of the guns being drawn. Just in hearing them she knew where they were aimed. Instead, she continued her actions on the man. She twisted her hold on him. A blade appeared like magic in her right hand, poised at his throat, and her left hand tilted his head back by a handful of his hair. She arched him to the side and back, her bent leg planted securely behind his knees, ready to kick and take him to the ground. The man was now subdued and at her mercy. Now, she could allow herself to address the situation of the six guns being drawn. She looked to where six soldiers aimed guns on Mystique. "Let her go or he's dead."

"Hahahahahaha!" It was the man.

Rogue jerked back on his head, distorting his laughter, but not stifling it. "What's so funny?"

"You, holding me hostage—heh heh—I'm just not that important."

Rogue looked at the soldiers aiming at Mystique. Not one of them even glanced at Rogue and the man. They had no interest in them at all. Their only target was Mystique.

Rogue didn't know what to do, but she suddenly wished she had left seven months ago... left with her backpack stuffed full with three pairs of jeans, eight long sleeved tees, bras, socks, underwear, gloves, and life savings, and with two stuffed animals tied to it. She looked to Mystique, the only mother she ever knew, and she didn't know how to save her.

****

~~~~~~~~~~~

ALT. END. KILBURN08.

VOILA! 

****

KNRNEUXUMZLETXMEXAXTTXLKNIIXMNRIXTIEOXAEAKNRNXEUXUATDXIEBESSBUUUENRXNK OIEATNEXETARXEANTIRXFOVNRPETXXHERLSXSRXCOIEXAXTNETIXNXESSEXREVOENTXAEIO DCXICWORXIFIVNSRDXNEEDXIIEREEXNTAXEEECXCXDCICXWOXRTREEXIGENEHXEROWCXICD IHRHISCNXIHAOIEIXEENXIECRXXERNEEUXNRCOXIIXHRHISCXLFXEXNTOIMEMXECSXIXHXRXHI ETEXIREOGXGRTNNVXXESITERXHAIKAXNEXSTEHMAEXTEXIREOMXEINGESCHUTOXXERIETXE RWNHXARMELEXEOSEBSGORVTSRL!XCTTFXUZXOPLXRWNHARMZTXFIGLXIADEXLMRAHNWR EIXENUEPSIXRRXSTSXEXEXEIEOXWXEEAHOWXINPUXIIEIEXXNUEPLA!XIHRERMXUTTPEUNEIE NREEXSXZICAXMSERXSSXRNMKNIXIXMNRIXTIEXOAXEAXNREXEXSZIXEXRATERSPESIZSEERN VERNFPAHDUPNSOSEEEEXOWEEAHXOWXINPUIXIVXERNFPAXXTENOXNOSXEXNIGAPFXNREV IRKTIXAXCUETXEIXXLXLXBXVHMRVXTSRLCTXTFXUZOPLIXRXKTIACMXA!XSINSTRSLICAITKRI EALOESCTLTSGIDUXOEEERHAIKAXNESTEHMAXXEALOESCXXENREVXXEXSSOLXXDCSEOLAE RXSAXTLEIMXZLXETMEXXATXTLXXIECXRERNEXEXUNRCXOIRXSATLEIATDIEBESSBUIELTASR VEREECAETAREAXXNTIRFXX!DIIEXREENTAEXEXECCVEREEXCXATINEXXSSEREVOXACEEREV OMTXTXNHLIFIVXNSXRDNEEOXVNXRPETHERXXLSSRXCOMT!TNHLTRXEEIGENEXHELHNTTMO IPXEETXOINIHXAOIXEIEENKNXXIIMNXRITIXEXOAEAXIPEEXXTOILXFX!ENTOXIMEMEIXOTEEPXI 

XXXX"The code was always meant for you. Use it like I taught you to. Make me and Irene proud."**XXXX **

IPXEETXOINIHXAOIXEIEENKNXXIIMNXRITIXEXOAEAXIPEEXXTOILXFX!ENTOXIMEMEIXOTEEPXI OMTXTXNHLIFIVXNSXRDNEEOXVNXRPETHERXXLSSRXCOMT!TNHLTRXEEIGENEXHELHNTTMO VEREECAETAREAXXNTIRFXX!DIIEXREENTAEXEXECCVEREEXCXATINEXXSSEREVOXACEEREV RXSAXTLEIMXZLXETMEXXATXTLXXIECXRERNEXEXUNRCXOIRXSATLEIATDIEBESSBUIELTASR EALOESCTLTSGIDUXOEEERHAIKAXNESTEHMAXXEALOESCXXENREVXXEXSSOLXXDCSEOLAE IRKTIXAXCUETXEIXXLXLXBXVHMRVXTSRLCTXTFXUZOPLIXRXKTIACMXA!XSINSTRSLICAITKRI VERNFPAHDUPNSOSEEEEXOWEEAHXOWXINPUIXIVXERNFPAXXTENOXNOSXEXNIGAPFXNREV NREEXSXZICAXMSERXSSXRNMKNIXIXMNRIXTIEXOAXEAXNREXEXSZIXEXRATERSPESIZSEERN EIXENUEPSIXRRXSTSXEXEXEIEOXWXEEAHOWXINPUXIIEIEXXNUEPLA!XIHRERMXUTTPEUNEIE RWNHXARMELEXEOSEBSGORVTSRL!XCTTFXUZXOPLXRWNHARMZTXFIGLXIADEXLMRAHNWR ETEXIREOGXGRTNNVXXESITERXHAIKAXNEXSTEHMAEXTEXIREOMXEINGESCHUTOXXERIETXE IHRHISCNXIHAOIEIXEENXIECRXXERNEEUXNRCOXIIXHRHISCXLFXEXNTOIMEMXECSXIXHXRXHI DCXICWORXIFIVNSRDXNEEDXIIEREEXNTAXEEECXCXDCICXWOXRTREEXIGENEHXEROWCXICD OIEATNEXETARXEANTIRXFOVNRPETXXHERLSXSRXCOIEXAXTNETIXNXESSEXREVOENTXAEIO KNRNEUXUMZLETXMEXAXTTXLKNIIXMNRIXTIEOXAEAKNRNXEUXUATDXIEBESSBUUUENRXNK

The initial glance at the coded page was intimidating, but Rogue let her eyes look at the whole of it, then slowly, slowly, narrowed in on its parts. In a matter of seconds she knew the first few filters she needed to use. First, the top half was duplicated, upside down, in the bottom half. So, she removed the bottom half and was left with...

****

KNRNEUXUMZLETXMEXAXTTXLKNIIXMNRIXTIEOXAEAKNRNXEUXUATDXIEBESSBUUUENRXNK OIEATNEXETARXEANTIRXFOVNRPETXXHERLSXSRXCOIEXAXTNETIXNXESSEXREVOENTXAEIO DCXICWORXIFIVNSRDXNEEDXIIEREEXNTAXEEECXCXDCICXWOXRTREEXIGENEHXEROWCXICD IHRHISCNXIHAOIEIXEENXIECRXXERNEEUXNRCOXIIXHRHISCXLFXEXNTOIMEMXECSXIXHXRXHI ETEXIREOGXGRTNNVXXESITERXHAIKAXNEXSTEHMAEXTEXIREOMXEINGESCHUTOXXERIETXE RWNHXARMELEXEOSEBSGORVTSRL!XCTTFXUZXOPLXRWNHARMZTXFIGLXIADEXLMRAHNWR EIXENUEPSIXRRXSTSXEXEXEIEOXWXEEAHOWXINPUXIIEIEXXNUEPLA!XIHRERMXUTTPEUNEIE NREEXSXZICAXMSERXSSXRNMKNIXIXMNRIXTIEXOAXEAXNREXEXSZIXEXRATERSPESIZSEERN VERNFPAHDUPNSOSEEEEXOWEEAHXOWXINPUIXIVXERNFPAXXTENOXNOSXEXNIGAPFXNREV IRKTIXAXCUETXEIXXLXLXBXVHMRVXTSRLCTXTFXUZOPLIXRXKTIACMXA!XSINSTRSLICAITKRI EALOESCTLTSGIDUXOEEERHAIKAXNESTEHMAXXEALOESCXXENREVXXEXSSOLXXDCSEOLAE RXSAXTLEIMXZLXETMEXXATXTLXXIECXRERNEXEXUNRCXOIRXSATLEIATDIEBESSBUIELTASR VEREECAETAREAXXNTIRFXX!DIIEXREENTAEXEXECCVEREEXCXATINEXXSSEREVOXACEEREV OMTXTXNHLIFIVXNSXRDNEEOXVNXRPETHERXXLSSRXCOMT!TNHLTRXEEIGENEXHELHNTTMO IPXEETXOINIHXAOIXEIEENKNXXIIMNXRITIXEXOAEAXIPEEXXTOILXFX!ENTOXIMEMEIXOTEEPXI 

XXXX"The code was always meant for you. Use it like I taught you to. Make me and Irene proud."**XXXX **

Second, Rogue looked at the original message line. The X's on either side were filler. That clued into all X's used in the entire message. All the X's were filler. They usually were. Mystique despised all things X after Rogue had joined up with the X-Men. With that realized, Rogue scanned the rest of the coded text and noted the abundance of X's and the few desultory exclamation points. That sparked a rule of Mystique's coding in her... 'no punctuation is used.' Thus, Rogue removed all the X's and all the exclamation points... oh, and the originally visible message line. That left her with...

****

KNRNEUUMZLETMEATTLKNIIMNRITIEOAEAKNRNEUUATDIEBESSBUUUENRNK OIEATNEETAREANTIRFOVNRPETHERLSSRCOIEATNETINESSEREVOENTAEIO DCICWORIFIVNSRDNEEDIIEREENTAEEECCDCICWORTREEIGENEHEROWCICD IHRHISCNIHAOIEIEENIECRERNEEUNRCOIIHRHISCLFENTOIMEMECSIHRHI ETEIREOGGRTNNVESITERHAIKANESTEHMAETEIREOMEINGESCHUTOERIETE RWNHARMELEEOSEBSGORVTSRLCTTFUZOPLRWNHARMZTFIGLIADELMRAHNWR EIENUEPSIRRSTSEEEIEOWEEAHOWINPUIIEIENUEPLAIHRERMUTTPEUNEIE NREESZICAMSERSSRNMKNIIMNRITIEOAEANREESZIERVATERSPESIZSEERN VERNFPAHDUPNSOSEEEEOWEEAHOWINPUIIVERNFPATENONOSENIGAPFNREV IRKTIACUETEILLBVHMRVTSRLCTTFUZOPLIRKTIACMASINSTRSLICAITKRI EALOESCTLTSGIDUOEEERHAIKANESTEHMAEALOESCENREVESSOLDCSEOLAE RSATLEIMZLETMEATTLIECRERNEEUNRCOIRSATLEIATDIEBESSBUIELTASR VEREECAETAREANTIRFDIIEREENTAEEECCVEREECATINESSEREVOACEEREV OMTTNHLIFIVNSRDNEEOVNRPETHERLSSRCOMTTNHLTREEIGENEHELHNTTMO IPEETOINIHAOIEIEENKNIIMNRITIEOAEAIPEETOILFENTOIMEMEIOTEEPI

Third, Rogue... well, Rogue was stumped again. Over and over again she scanned it and couldn't find a pattern. She needed to find the pattern in order to decipher the actual key to the code.

~~~~~~~~~~~

"And you don't seem to understand. A shame, you seemed an honest man. And all those fears you hold so dear will turn to whisper in your ear. And you know what they say may hurt you. And you know that it means so much. And you don't even feel a thing." (Duvet –by Boa) 

Foot steps. Muffled. Shuffled. Tap-step-swish. Tap-step-swish.

"What part of stay away didn't you understand!" Gyrich yelled. He was at his wit's end. His latest project was destroyed. 

Tap-step-swish.

The machine was destroyed. But that could be rebuilt. 

Tap-step-swish.

All the research was gone. But that could be redone as well.

Tap-step-swish.

The diaries were gone. The diaries were stolen, stolen by HER. Everything had been all for HER and because of HER. It was all HER fault.

Gyrich didn't realize how poignant those thoughts were. If he only knew.

Tap-step-swish. 

Gyrich smacked his hands on the metal floor along with his angry words, "I said—"

Tap-tap… the cane bumped against the crushed metal that Gyrich was leaning against. The crushed metal used to be the Seether machine… but now it resembled half-molten crushed cars. Gyrich's eyes followed the length of the cane, from its cracked foam/plastic tip, up the slender dark wood, to the knotted handle gripped by the ancient hand. Gyrich focused on the paper-thin skin stretched taut over the hand's thick knuckles. As though having read Gyrich's mind, the old man said, "They can be hunted."

Knock… knock… Gyrich bumped his head against the remains of the Seether machine that he sat against. Hunted. That was this old man's proposal from the first… well from the moment that he had re-entered Gyrich's life after about a fourteen year hiatus. This old man was the bane of Gyrich's existence. If Gyrich had never met this old man, he would not be in the mess he was in right then. He would not be filled with such hatred. He would not have such a burning desire to destroy an entire species of life. He would not be in such pain. He would not have met Lilly… 

Gyrich sighed. Sadness oozed from his lungs with that weary loose of breath, but there was so much more remaining_. I would never have met Lilly._

****

~~~~~~~~~~~

"Here, here, now, don't cry, you raised your hand for the assignment. Tuck those ribbons under your helmet, be a good soldier. First my left foot then my right behind the other..." (Mother –by Tori Amos)

Rogue watched, helpless, tears brimming her eyes like the coffee had been brimming her cup while she faced Mystique's inquiry in the tearoom only seven months before. The soldiers shackled Mystique and carted her away. Rogue followed them as they loaded Mystique into a prisoner van. Somewhere, somehow, Rogue was aware of the man she was dragging along with her, knife at his throat, hand clutching his hair, his feeble knees struggling to keep up with her speed. Still, Rogue watched as the soldiers piled in around Mystique, shut the van up, and pulled away. Vaguely, Rogue registered the slight tremor to the ground, the fiery mass that swirled by her, the knife she pressed to a throat, and a hand full of hair. She watched, as Blob stomped past her, out of breath, futile in his attempts to catch a van that was now out of sight.

"—him go, Rogue?" 

Rogue didn't quite register Avalanche talking to her. 

A hand rested on her shoulder, and her eyes snapped up to see it had been Pyro who tested that risky gesture.

"It's over, Rogue. Ya can let the bloke loose... We'll handle him."

Confused. Rogue was confused. She looked to Pyro, to Blob, and to Avalanche; all of them had obviously run full speed from their positions up in the buildings surrounding St. Mark's square. Even with their view of the area they hadn't spotted the soldiers until it was too late. 

Rogue looked in the direction the van drove, then back to Pyro. "They took Raven, St. John..." 

"She'll be apples, Rogue," Pyro said, using his native slang Rogue always liked for 'it'll be okay.' "We'll have her home in no time. Promise." He tried to get a hold of the man Rogue still had at her mercy. The man's knees were scraped; his oversized jacket was dusty and torn from being dragged across the square. He bore the physical signs of Rogue's rough and uncaring handling of him. However, peculiarly, he was completely at ease as he stared up at Rogue. The man wasn't fighting her hold at all. 

"Let me take the bloke, k?" Pyro asked again. He was disturbed by the man's strange attention on Rogue. The man was watching Rogue like he was looking at an angel... a real angel, not just some pretty girl. It was creepy.

"They took Raven," Rogue repeated, then looked down at the man in her hands. Even in the dimly lit square, her emerald orbs reflected in his glassy eyes. "Mama—" 

She shifted, uncomfortably. Most of her reflected in his glassy eyes now. She almost remembered him... almost. Emerald orbs sucked in, rolled over, covered up, and threw away the key. Rogue was hollowed out. Rogue gaped.

"I escape into your escape into our very favorite fearscape. It's across the sky and across my heart and I cross my legs. Oh my God." (Mother –by Tori Amos)

"Yes, it's me," the man said, mistaking and twisting Rogue's hollow gape as elated recognition. "I forgive you." He seemed so relieved. "You can come with me." 

Rogue swallowed. She was swallowed. A hateful, vengeful snarl replaced her hollow gape. She dropped him—splat! And then she spat in his face like she'd spat on the couple in the gondola who were kissing as they passed under the 'Ponte dei Sospiri'—the Bridge of Sighs—while Rogue was crossing it before the meeting. The bridge had linked the Doge's Palace to the old prison sections across the canal. A romantic notion had grown around it—lovers who kissed as they passed under the Bridge of Sighs would share a love that lasted forever. But Rogue's kiss meant death, not love. Rogue's own skin was her own prison. The man before her was the bridge linking her prison and her palace. Too bad her bridge crumbled into the canal when her gape became a snarl. 

"Leave him," Rogue said. Ignoring the nagging feeling telling her she had left something behind, Rogue stalked away. Unbeknown to her consciously, Rogue was actually missing something. Just not the way she would've thought. She hadn't physically lost anything. She'd tucked a piece of her self inside her own mind. She'd sealed it over with sticky webbing. Perhaps, never to be seen again.

"Oh my God. First my left foot then my right behind the other. Bread crumbs lost under the snow." (Mother –by Tori Amos)

The fireworks had reached and passed its peak. The cheering crowds broke apart into more intimate collections to play and sing and dance and converse, only to regroup at the Lido to embrace the coming sunrise. However, Rogue and the brotherhood didn't participate in the same games. They broke into a military prison. They freed Mystique. They escaped Venice, Italy and headed for the states. The sunrise chased them home.

****

~~~~~~~~~~~

"I am falling. I am fading. I have lost it all." (Duvet –by Boa)

Gyrich hung his head in shame. Maybe this was just what he needed. Maybe this last failure would defeat him, would send him to rest, and would end a career that had been honed by hate. _A misplaced hate; misdirected painful vengeance._ He knew that, somewhere faintly muffled in his thoughts. It wasn't like a mutant had murdered his wife and child, murdered his perfect life just as it was starting. Truthfully, from all the doctor had spoken of and from what the death certificates had said... his wife and child had died of natural causes. He hated to be reminded of it, reminded of the occasional admission that sometimes people just die.

"You are pathetic, Henry!" The old man boomed. He had a voice that commanded. It was charismatic and entrancing. It was strong and hearing it inspired fellowship. It was mind control at its most subtle. It was the voice of a skillful and talented salesman. It was the voice of a preacher. It condemned punishment and promised rewards in every syllable. The quality of his voice mocked the harshness of the words. And yet, Gyrich couldn't help but listen to him. He couldn't help but believe him. 

And yet… Gyrich had heard the man more than a thousand times. Was it possible that the voice had lost its affect on him? Was it possible that Gyrich had heard the tired tirade just too many times for it to effectively push his buttons?

"Look at you, sniveling there," the old man continued. "I don't know what I was thinking when I met you. You are pathetic." Thunk! Another jab of the cane against the crumpled metal Gyrich leaned back on resounded in time with the hurtful repetition of, "Pathetic!"

Gyrich had had it. He leapt up, shoved his face into the old man's face, forcing his withering, fire-scarred body to recoil, and yelled, "That's it, Marshall!" He slammed his fist back against the crumpled remains of the Seether machine. A small jagged edge bit into his hand, but Gyrich was too angry to feel it. "Look at it! LOOK AT IT! It's over! Don't you get it! This is over!"

A proud grin broke across the old man's sour veneer and lit his cloudy, jaded eyes. "That's the spirit, boy! Get angry! Fight back!" The old man tap-step-swished, dragging his scarred and near-useless right leg, as he moved around Gyrich to the side of the crumpled Seether machine remains, and all along continuing to crouse. "Don't let the situation control you. Don't let someone else lead you by your brass. YOU make the situation suit your whims. YOU make the people follow you!"

"And exactly how do you expect me to do that, Marshall?" Gyrich asked, gesturing to the remains of the Seether machine. "That's what this was for, wasn't it? Contain the mutant, tap and harness her power, use it to create and control mutant hunters, the Hounds... that was the plan, was it not?"

"It's still the plan, Henry. Not everything is lost."

Exasperated, Gyrich sighed. "It was next to impossible to convince congress to give us the money to build this one. We won't be able to get another one made, Marshall."

The old man's proud grin turned sly, and he said, "We don't have to. We already have another one." 

He paused a moment, letting the revelation sink into Gyrich. 

Then the old man continued explaining. "In fact, this wasn't even the full Seether machine. This was just a containment unit. The full machine... well, that's safely stashed away. The real one won't be risked by being in her presence or the presence of any other mutant until after she has been contained and subdued to us."

"You mean—" Gyrich cut himself off as he worked it all out in his head. Then, when not understanding how construction of more than one machine could have escaped him, he asked, "What about Gary and Janey? They can't be—"

"They're taken care of. Two shots. Clean."

"Ahhhhh..." A long pause. Then Gyrich addressed the real issue. "But... A second machine? I mean, how?"

"I have my ways, Henry," the old man crowed, "I can be very persuasive when I want to be." He rounded on him, grinding his hand on the head of the cane. The action made the scarred skin on his hand appear as bubbling melted wax. His eyes twinkled, and he boasted, "I am the direct descendent of two of the south's greatest military leaders, including General Lee, himself. I am Marshall Le—"

That's when Gyrich tuned out again. This part of the old man's tirades, at least, had grown tired enough for him to actually be able to ignore. Unlike usually, when the man's roaring fire and brimstone voice bore right into Gyrich's core. To everyone's core. Gyrich had rarely seen a person not mesmerized when the old man spoke.

"And you don't seem the lying kind. A shame that I can read your mind. And all those things that I read there… candle-lit smile that we both share. And you know I don't mean to hurt you. But you know that it means so much. And you don't even feel a thing." (Duvet –by Boa)

****

~~~~~~~~~~~

Rogue remembered. Another layer had been shed. Another piece of her self had been revealed, anew... No, that wasn't accurate. She'd been razed. A layer had been shaved off, scraped off, torn down. Another persona was released, and suddenly it all seemed so clear. Well, not everything... But as she looked at the coded text, where she first saw only...

****

KNRNEUUMZLETMEATTLKNIIMNRITIEOAEAKNRNEUUATDIEBESSBUUUENRNK OIEATNEETAREANTIRFOVNRPETHERLSSRCOIEATNETINESSEREVOENTAEIO DCICWORIFIVNSRDNEEDIIEREENTAEEECCDCICWORTREEIGENEHEROWCICD IHRHISCNIHAOIEIEENIECRERNEEUNRCOIIHRHISCLFENTOIMEMECSIHRHI ETEIREOGGRTNNVESITERHAIKANESTEHMAETEIREOMEINGESCHUTOERIETE RWNHARMELEEOSEBSGORVTSRLCTTFUZOPLRWNHARMZTFIGLIADELMRAHNWR EIENUEPSIRRSTSEEEIEOWEEAHOWINPUIIEIENUEPLAIHRERMUTTPEUNEIE NREESZICAMSERSSRNMKNIIMNRITIEOAEANREESZIERVATERSPESIZSEERN VERNFPAHDUPNSOSEEEEOWEEAHOWINPUIIVERNFPATENONOSENIGAPFNREV IRKTIACUETEILLBVHMRVTSRLCTTFUZOPLIRKTIACMASINSTRSLICAITKRI EALOESCTLTSGIDUOEEERHAIKANESTEHMAEALOESCENREVESSOLDCSEOLAE RSATLEIMZLETMEATTLIECRERNEEUNRCOIRSATLEIATDIEBESSBUIELTASR VEREECAETAREANTIRFDIIEREENTAEEECCVEREECATINESSEREVOACEEREV OMTTNHLIFIVNSRDNEEOVNRPETHERLSSRCOMTTNHLTREEIGENEHELHNTTMO IPEETOINIHAOIEIEENKNIIMNRITIEOAEAIPEETOILFENTOIMEMEIOTEEPI

She now saw this...

****

KNRNEUUMZLETMEATTLKNIIMNRITIEOAEAKNRNEUUATDIEBESSBUUUENRN**K O**IEATNEETAREANTIRFOVNRPETHERLSSRCOIEATNETINESSEREVOENTAEI**O D**CICWORIFIVNSRDNEEDIIEREENTAEEECCDCICWORTREEIGENEHEROWCIC**D I**HRHISCNIHAOIEIEENIECRERNEEUNRCOIIHRHISCLFENTOIMEMECSIHRH**I E**TEIREOGGRTNNVESITERHAIKANESTEHMAETEIREOMEINGESCHUTOERIET**E R**WNHARMELEEOSEBSGORVTSRLCTTFUZOPLRWNHARMZTFIGLIADELMRAHNW**R E**IENUEPSIRRSTSEEEIEOWEEAHOWINPUIIEIENUEPLAIHRERMUTTPEUNEI**E N**REESZICAMSERSSRNMKNIIMNRITIEOAEANREESZIERVATERSPESIZSEER**N **

VERNFPAHDUPNSOSEEE EOWEEAHOWINPUIIVERNFPATENONOSENIGAPFNRE**V** **I**RKTIACUETEILLBVHMRVTSRLCTTFUZOPLIRKTIACMASINSTRSLICAITKR**I E**ALOESCTLTSGIDUOEEERHAIKANESTEHMAEALOESCENREVESSOLDCSEOLA**E R**SATLEIMZLETMEATTLIECRERNEEUNRCOIRSATLEIATDIEBESSBUIELTAS**R **

VEREECAETAREANTIRFDIIEREENTAEEECCVEREECATINESSEREVOACEERE**V O**MTTNHLIFIVNSRDNEEOVNRPETHERLSSRCOMTTNHLTREEIGENEHELHNTTM**O I**PEETOINIHAOIEIEENKNIIMNRITIEOAEAIPEETOILFENTOIMEMEIOTEEP**I**

The letters going down the edge on both sides of the text said KODIEREN VIER VOI. It was a rephrasing of the originally visible text of the email. Well, the first line of it, anyway. But it was in German and Italian. Kodieren = Code. Vier = Four. Voi = You. Code four you. 

**__**

"Four." The voice was new. It was salt and vinegar.

__

"Hmmmmmm." 

**__**

"Four." Tart and bitter.

Another glance and the text transformed again, not physically on the screen, but just through her view. Columns formed right before her eyes. It was now...

****

KNRNEUU~MZLETMEATTL~**K**NIIMNRITIEOAEA~**K**NRNEUU~ATDIEBESSBU~UUENRN**K**

OIEATNE~ETAREANTIRF~**O**VNRPETHERLSSRC~**O**IEATNE~TINESSEREVO~ENTAEI**O**

DCICWOR~IFIVNSRDNEE~**D**IIEREENTAEEECC~**D**CICWOR~TREEIGENEHE~ROWCIC**D**

IHRHISC~NIHAOIEIEEN~**I**ECRERNEEUNRCOI~**I**HRHISC~LFENTOIMEME~CSIHRH**I**

ETEIREO~GGRTNNVESIT~**E**RHAIKANESTEHMA~**E**TEIREO~MEINGESCHUT~OERIET**E**

RWNHARM~ELEEOSEBSGO~**R**VTSRLCTTFUZOPL~**R**WNHARM~ZTFIGLIADEL~MRAHNW**R**

EIENUEP~SIRRSTSEEEI~**E**OWEEAHOWINPUII~**E**IENUEP~LAIHRERMUTT~PEUNEI**E**

NREESZI~CAMSERSSRNM~**K**NIIMNRITIEOAEA~**N**REESZI~ERVATERSPES~IZSEER**N**

VERNFPA~HDUPNSOSEEE~ **E**OWEEAHOWINPUII~**V**ERNFPA~TENONOSENIG~APFNRE**V**

IRKTIAC~UETEILLBVHM~**R**VTSRLCTTFUZOPL~**I**RKTIAC~MASINSTRSLI~CAITKR**I**

EALOESC~TLTSGIDUOEE~**E**RHAIKANESTEHMA~**E**ALOESC~ENREVESSOLD~CSEOLA**E**

RSATLEI~MZLETMEATTL~**I**ECRERNEEUNRCOI~**R**SATLEI~ATDIEBESSBU~IELTAS**R**

VEREECA~ETAREANTIRF~**D**IIEREENTAEEECC~**V**EREECA~TINESSEREVO~ACEERE**V**

OMTTNHL~IFIVNSRDNEE~**O**VNRPETHERLSSRC~**O**MTTNHL~TREEIGENEHE~LHNTTM**O**

IPEETOI~NIHAOIEIEEN~**K**NIIMNRITIEOAEA~**I**PEETOI~LFENTOIMEME~IOTEEP**I**

KODIEREN VIER VOI. Code four you. Four. That first line was repeated four times. And with that revelation, the other patterns were beginning show, the code to unravel. The sequence with that first recognized phrase was repeated four times, in some manner. That left two more columns. Logic alone told her two was half of four, and half of two was one. So, more than likely she figured there was only one more patterned sequence that was repeated. Since, to be repeated... it had to be there more than once. But to be safe, she retained the two columns that didn't include 'Kodieren Vier Voi' until she broke them down. Thus, Rogue cut away all unnecessary columns, leaving her with the following.

KNRNEUU~~~~~~~~~~~~MZLETMEATTL~~~~~~~~~~~~~ATDIEBESSBU~

****

OIEATNE~~~~~~~~~~~~ETAREANTIRF~~~~~~~~~~~~~TINESSEREVO~

****

DCICWOR~~~~~~~~~~~~IFIVNSRDNEE~~~~~~~~~~~~~TREEIGENEHE~

****

IHRHISC~~~~~~~~~~~~NIHAOIEIEEN~~~~~~~~~~~~~LFENTOIMEME~

****

ETEIREO~~~~~~~~~~~~GGRTNNVESIT~~~~~~~~~~~~~MEINGESCHUT~

****

RWNHARM~~~~~~~~~~~~ELEEOSEBSGO~~~~~~~~~~~~~ZTFIGLIADEL~

****

EIENUEP~~~~~~~~~~~~SIRRSTSEEEI~~~~~~~~~~~~~LAIHRERMUTT~

****

NREESZI~~~~~~~~~~~~CAMSERSSRNM~~~~~~~~~~~~~ERVATERSPES~

****

VERNFPA~~~~~~~~~~~~HDUPNSOSEEE~ ~~~~~~~~~~~~TENONOSENIG~

****

IRKTIAC~~~~~~~~~~~~UETEILLBVHM~~~~~~~~~~~~~MASINSTRSLI~

****

EALOESC~~~~~~~~~~~~TLTSGIDUOEE~~~~~~~~~~~~~ENREVESSOLD~

****

RSATLEI~~~~~~~~~~~~MZLETMEATTL~~~~~~~~~~~~~ATDIEBESSBU~

****

VEREECA~~~~~~~~~~~~ETAREANTIRF~~~~~~~~~~~~~TINESSEREVO~

****

OMTTNHL~~~~~~~~~~~~IFIVNSRDNEE~~~~~~~~~~~~~TREEIGENEHE~

****

IPEETOI~~~~~~~~~~~~NIHAOIEIEEN~~~~~~~~~~~~~LFENTOIMEME~

Now, she had to break down each of the sequences. She took the first column, and followed the cue that was simplest to see. The first three words went straight down. Perhaps, all the words went down in that fashion. So, she separated the letters and lined them up to see them better. The first group quickly became...

KNRNEUU

****

OIEATNE

****

DCICWOR

****

IHRHISC

****

ETEIREO

****

RWNHARM

****

EIENUEP

****

NREESZI

****

VERNFPA

****

IRKTIAC

****

EALOESC

****

RSATLEI

****

VEREECA

****

OMTTNHL

****

IPEETOI

__

"Huh, seven across and fifteen down... fifteen ...Fifteen," Rogue thought.

**__**

"Yeah, Sug, it's meh," Fifteen said. Hearing her talk was like hearing and tasting the flavor and texture of munching on salt and vinegar chips.

Rogue grinned. _"Ya know languages."_

**__**

"Yes, Ah know languages." Salt and vinegar.

__

"And codes."

"And codes." Tart and bitter.

Together they examined the first group. Going down the lines, up, down, left, right, Rogue got, 'KODIE RENVIERVOINICHTWIRERASEMPTREIRENEERKLARTENACHIHNENTOTETEETWIRAUSFIELEN TUNOSEREZPASECHOUERCOMPIACCIALI.' A glance was all it took and the words popped out at her. 

Kodieren vier voi. Nicht wir. Era Sempre. Irene erklarte. Nach ihnen totete et wir ausfielen. Tu n'os erez pas echouer. Compiacciali. It's a combination of German, Italian, and French. It translated as...

"Code four you. Not us. It always was. Irene explained. After you killed and we failed. You will not dare fail. Satisfy us," Rogue said, reading the translation. "Just a little demanding aren't ya, Mystique."

**__**

"This ain't the code she means," Fifteen said, **_"She ain't talkin' 'bout the email, sug."_** Salt and Vinegar.

**__**

"No, she's not," Thirteen added in her edgy, yet sad voice.

"Zero Beta Niner Beta Alpha Zero Niner Omega," Rogue said and grimaced. "But what for?"

**__**

"Foah ya, Ah guess," Thirteen's sad, edgy voice said, **_"Kodieren vier voi... The code is foah ya... She says it twice."_**

****

"No." It was Fifteen. For all her rebelliousness, it was sure, it was serious, and it was dour. **_"It's foah us, sug. Foah four of us."_** Tart and bitter.

__

"But which ones?"

**__**

"Don't know," Thirteen said, edgy, sad.

Fifteen said nothing. Rather, Rogue felt Fifteen's shrug as she crossed her arms across her chest in irritation and defiance of her not knowing. She was a teenager. She hated not knowing the answers. Fifteen was so alike and yet so different from Thirteen. Fifteen was edgy like Thirteen, only more so. Her demeanor, the bottled up effect, and the tension, was the same... only more so. But that was just the flavor on the chip... it wasn't even close to breaching the depths of her acerbic constitution. Fifteen lacked Thirteen's compassion, Thirteen's sadness, Thirteen's insecurities, or Thirteen's order. Fifteen was chaos, only restrained by her sour bitterness and conceit. And she was worthy of her conceit. She was dangerously intelligent, talented, and skillful. This was the Rogue that invented the siphoning kiss of hers as an attack on an adversary.

And right now, her adversary was the remains of the coded text of the email. Little more than a brief study of the two remaining columns, and BLINK, the pattern emerged like a magic eye picture.

~MZLETMEATTL~~~~~~~~~~~~~ATDIEBESSBU~

~ETAREANTIRF~~~~~~~~~~~~~TINESSEREVO~

~IFIVNSRDNEE~~~~~~~~~~~~~TREEIGENEHE~

~NIHAOIEIEEN~~~~~~~~~~~~~LFENTOIMEME~

~GGRTNNVESIT~~~~~~~~~~~~~MEINGESCHUT~

~ELEEOSEBSGO~~~~~~~~~~~~~ZTFIGLIADEL~

~SIRRSTSEEEI~~~~~~~~~~~~~LAIHRERMUTT~

~CAMSERSSRNM~~~~~~~~~~~~~ERVATERSPES~

~HDUPNSOSEEE~ ~~~~~~~~~~~~TENONOSENIG~

~UETEILLBVHM~~~~~~~~~~~~~MASINSTRSLI~

~TLTSGIDUOEE~~~~~~~~~~~~~ENREVESSOLD~

~MZLETMEATTL~~~~~~~~~~~~ATDIEBESSBU~

~ETAREANTIRF~~~~~~~~~~~~~TINESSEREVO~

~IFIVNSRDNEE~~~~~~~~~~~~~TREEIGENEHE~

~NIHAOIEIEEN~~~~~~~~~~~~~LFENTOIMEME~

...became...

**M**ZLETMEATTL~~~~~~~~~~~AT**DIEBESS**BU

**E**TAREANTIRF~~~~~~~~~~~TINESSEREVO

**I**F**I**V**N**SR**D**NEE~~~~~~~~~~~TREEIGENEHE

**N**I**H**A**O**IE**I**EEN~~~~~~~~~~~LFEN**TOIMEME**

GG**R**T**N**NV**E**SI**T**~~~~~~~~~~~**MEIN**G****E****SCHUT

EL**E**E**O**SE**B**SG**O**~~~~~~~~~~~ZTFIGLIADEL

SI**R**R**S**TS**E**EE**I**~~~~~~~~~~~LA**IHRER**MUTT

CAMSERS**S**RN**M**~~~~~~~~~~~ERVATERSPES

HDUPNSO**S**EE**E** ~~~~~~~~~~~TE**NONOS**ENIG

UETEILLBVH**M**~~~~~~~~~~~MASINSTRSLI

TLTSGIDUOE**E**~~~~~~~~~~~ENREVESSOLD

MZLETMEATTL~~~~~~~~~~~AT**DIEBESS**BU

ETAREANTIRF~~~~~~~~~~~TINESSEREVO

IFIVNSRDNEE~~~~~~~~~~~TREEIGENEHE

NIHAOIEIEEN~~~~~~~~~~~LFEN**TOIMEME**

Words popped out at her... MEIN—German, My; IHRER—German, Your; NONOS—Italian, Grandfather's; DIEBESS—French, Thief's; TOI-MEME—French, Yourself... and their counterparts popped out in the other grouping as well... And the pattern emerged. It emerged. It was duplicated. It was eleven by eleven... That shouldn't have been an obvious pattern option, but it hadn't occurred to Rogue to look for it.

The remains were now merely...

****

MZLETMEATTL

****

ETAREANTIRF

****

IF**I**V**N**SR**D**NEE

****

NI**H**A**O**IE**I**EEN

GG**R**T**N**NV**E**SI**T**

EL**E**E**O**SE**B**SG**O**

SI**R**R**S**TS**E**EE**I**

CAMSERS**S**RN**M**

HDUPNSO**S**EE**E**

UETEILLBVH**M**

TLTSGIDUOE**E**

...and like the first deciphering grouping, this was down the column, moving from right to left. It was so obvious...

MEINGESCHUTZTFIGLIADELLAIHRERMUTTERVATERSPESTENONOSENIGMASINSTRSLIENREVS SOLDATDIEBESSBUTiNESSEREVOTREEIGENEHELFENTOIMEME—another combination of German, French, German, and abbreviated English as well became... 

Mein geschutzt, Figlia della ihrer mutter, Vater's peste, Nono's enigma, Sinistr's lien, Reve's soldat, Diebes's butin. Essere votre eigene. Helfen toi-meme. Translated, that was... My protégé, Daughter of your nut/mother, Father's plague, Grandfather's riddle, Sinister's bond, Dream's soldier, Thief's spoils. Be your own person. Help yourself.

Silence commented. Taught and straining.

"I am falling. I am fading. I am drowning. Help me to breathe. I am hurting. I have lost it all. I am losing. Help me to breathe." (Duvet –by Boa)

Rogue broke the silence. _"Well, either one of ya'll got a clue as to what Mystique's getting at here?"_

Thirteen's answer was poignant. Thirteen simply slipped sadly, edgily back into her sanctum of penance.

__

"Well, ain't that neighborly of ya, Thirteen." Rogue sighed, brushing against the essence of the remaining persona, Fifteen, and asked, _"You're gonna split too, aren't ya?"_

Rogue's answer was no more than an abrasive scuttling off, to wherever domain Fifteen called her own, if she did indeed call anything her own. 

Oh... and one more thing.

Salt and Vinegar. **_"Marshall."_** Tart and bitter.

It was the name of the man in Venice, Italy.

"I am falling. I am fading. I am drowning. Help me to breathe. I am hurting. I have lost it all. I am losing. Help me to breathe." (Duvet –by Boa)

****

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

FOOTNOTES:

[1] Festa del Redentore was researched at VeniceWord.com (). Other research on Venice came from more than a dozen sources, all combined.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

A/N: Okay, thanks for putting up with the decoding stuff. I'm sure some of you skipped by a lot of it and just read the final messages. It's okay; I probably would have done the same thing. Still, I had to include it. This was a tangible representation of the intelligence Rogue had to have possessed while training under Mystique. Just by having it there, even if skipped, readers were able to get a sense of the complicated procedure that was involved in actually decoding the message. UGH! It was hard to design and actually write that code, too. It took me a couple weeks!

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~


	14. Chapter 14 Aleatory

****

A/N: Like in chapter 10, I jump back and forth in time during this chapter. I hope it isn't too difficult to follow, but I have a significant purpose for this... Oh, yeah! It's also another long one. ~_~ooo

Special thanks: RogueBHS (MidnyteRogue, etc.) for inspiring the Storm/Rogue gabbing scene. For responding to my plea for Greek Mythology help, well, everyone, especially Roguechere, Lynx, CatgirlX, and SLH for taking the time to actually send me the story itself. All of you are wonderful! :hugs: Oh, and to my husband, for making it possible for me to spend so much time on my performing and writing goals.

****

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Seether

Chapter Fourteen – Aleatory [1]

By Randirogue

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

"Crickets are chirping. The water is high. There's a soft cotton dress on the line hanging dry." (Man In the Long Black Coat –by Joan Osborne)

Even at this time of year, the humidity reigned. Something about the river, something about the south, something about nostalgia contributed to its sticky hold. Indoors, looking out through an antique glass window mimicked memories. This view showed the breeze tugging tree branches and laundry on the line, the river a picture of pure, still serenity, and the sunbeams cutting betwixt clouds and canopy to shower the grass. But, step outside and the image lost its perfection. Without the antique glass as a filter the faults were revealed. The breeze was blowing hair into eyes and lifting skirts, the river was tearing away the brush with its current or lying stagnant—a breeding ground for mosquitoes and such—and the sun was baking, glare blinding, and robbing comfort of the shade. Distance and separation tended to remove the bad for the good, or the good for the bad. It depended on what a person wanted to see. If a native southerner persevered the winters of the northeast for a few years, the haughtier climate of the south could appear pleasantly mild, a welcomed retreat... a view through an antique glass window. At first, that is. A few days in and the annoyances of the not exactly sultry weather returned; the filter of the glass was removed.

Rogue was no exception to this. Despite all her powers, she wasn't immune to the effects of facing her nostalgia in person any more than she was immune to the clinging humidity. She mused over the realities of her occasionally romanticized remembrances as she sat on a tree branch near the banks of the mighty Mississippi. Rogue wiped a bead of sweat trailing down her back then swatted a mosquito on her arm. She used the toe of one shoe to scratch another bite on the calf of her other leg. A trail of mud now spotted the bite. She frowned at that. She had flown to her perch in the tree, yet still, her shoes were splattered with mud. She'd forgotten how the mud managed to get stuck to her no matter how carefully she avoided it. She huffed and wiped a sweat-dampened lock of white hair out of her eyes, accepting that she would always be a river rat. The mud was just a part of that.

The team had arrived only a few hours before. They'd flown commercial, relying on Rogue's inheritance, Remy's vast financial means from thieving, and the contributions the other team members had made from their own admittedly smaller savings to provide for the excursion's expenses so they could refrain from involving Xavier so much. Rogue gladly offered up the wealth she'd inherited. She never was much for living up the high standards of the rich. Most of the X-Men figured that her modest spending was a left over from her lifestyle growing up. They always seemed to assume that her river rat roots encompassed the mass of her life. She knew that Sage reminded them of Mystique's significant influence, making them less inclined to equate her with ignorant trailer trash... okay, so she knew they had never viewed her intelligence and familial social status quite that harshly. But, they still didn't seem to comprehend that Mystique and Irene, who never felt the need to shrug off luxury, had raised her. Rogue was almost nine when they took her in. Her only possessions were a shotgun, the clothes adorning her, a nickname, and a fierce sense of self-preservation. She hadn't even possessed the gifts that identified her as a mutant yet. The X-Men failed to understand that Rogue's down-home-minimalist flavor wasn't from the pre-brotherhood period of her life. Those times were a foreign nation to her. It was a product of other things... things inherent in persona's like Thirteen and Eleven. 

Rogue had found it amusing to bring them to yet another house when they arrived in Caldecott. The third one since they first set out after the diaries: Australia, New Orleans, and now in Caldecott. It wasn't a mansion by any means, but it wasn't a hovel either. It was a slate-gray two-story house with a wrap around porch and a white swing in front. There were benches and rocking chairs arranged on the porch as well, and white shutters framed each and every window. It was set a good ways back from the road on a patch of four acres of land. It wasn't right on the riverbank, but it wasn't far from it, either. 

Upon arrival, Rogue had pulled out a key and walked inside like she'd been there a hundred times before. She showed them around, giving wistful, secretive smiles at this and that. By the time they had divided up the bedrooms, Rogue had them convinced that the house was hers and that she had lived in it for several years with Mystique and Irene. They even assumed that the room she had claimed for herself was the one she had occupied when she'd resided there. After all, it was furnished as though for a teenager. Storm, Bobby, Remy, and even Bishop were examining the house for signs of her history by the time she'd finished giving them the tour.

But right then, Storm and Rogue were in the kitchen, and Rogue was contemplating exactly how to give up the joke about owning yet another house when Storm had asked, "Seven bedrooms? Did Mystique have guests often?"

Rogue closed the cupboard door and looked to Storm. The expression Storm wore revealed to Rogue that the joke was up. 

"Ya caught me, Ah rented it." Rogue said, mirth evident in her tone. "What gave me away?"

Storm opened a drawer and pulled out a welcome card. She had come across it first thing when her and Rogue began their inventory of the existing food supply in the kitchen. Pushing the card across the island, Storm said, "Samantha Cain [2]." It was the name that the card was addressed to. It was from a real estate rental agent.

"Ah didn't think any o' ya'll saw that movie," Rogue said with a slight chuckle.

"I rented it just a few days ago," Storm admitted, "after Sage reminded us of the—" a pause for the most judicious word "—tutelage you received under Mystique. I had wanted to see it when it first came out, but an emergency, Magneto on Asteroid M, if I remember correctly, had prevented me from seeing it in the theaters." Storm jotted down two more items on their shopping list. Without looking up, she added, "Some things Sage had said reminded me of the movie."

Rogue, who'd been continuing her survey of the cupboards, said, "Coffee, cream, sugah, honey for Gambit [3], tea, if ya want it, Storm." She didn't bother looking to see if Storm got all of those on her list. She didn't even need to use Logan's enhanced hearing to listen if Storm had written them down. Rogue hadn't been intentionally spying on Storm's thoughts, but ever since the odd absorbing of Emma's powers during Beast's tests in the danger room, Emma's telepathy had been automatically on all the time. She could dim it, but certain thoughts she couldn't keep out completely. Storm's oncoming question just happened to be one of those things. Rogue had mixed feelings about the ensuing questions to come. She was hoping she could use the shopping list to distract Storm from the direction their conversation was taking, since she wasn't willing to use Emma's telepathy to force it, but it didn't.

Storm's questions came regardless. The first one, "Do you think that film was very accurate?"

"Ah couldn't tell ya, 'Roro," Rogue answered. The response was nonchalant. "Ah never worked for the government. Mystique's X-Force days were after me." 

"I see," Storm said with equal nonchalance.

Rogue's thoughts were not so insouciant. _Just ask it, already, 'Roro._

She did... sort of, asking, "Did it have any resemblance at all to your time with Mystique?"

Rogue sighed and faced her. Storm wasn't normally one to beat around the bush like she was. It made Rogue realize that Storm really was working hard at not setting her off, at not pushing her too much. Sage had pointed out to them that Rogue never told the X-Men the specifics of that time because they had never wanted to know about it. They had never asked her about it. When she first joined them, they had no trust of her, no acceptance of her, and no liking of her. They had loads of suspicions, though, and plenty of opportunities to inform Rogue of them. So, Rogue had bottled them up inside her. She hadn't locked them away like she had done to Thirteen, Fifteen, Nineteen and whoever else was still in there, but she had kept them secreted within her nonetheless. Emma's telepathy had told her all of this, and seeing Storm work so hard at treating the issue so carefully, Rogue felt an urge to make it easier on her. All in all, it was really just about the least problematic topic for Rogue right then.

Rogue hopped off the counter and moved gently towards Storm. "Ya can just ask me what ya want ta ask me," she said, making light of it, "it can't be bad enough ta spark another episode."

Storm frowned; she wasn't amused. 

"Okay, bad way o' putting that." Rogue took a breath and tried to make Storm understand with her expression and her tone, "Ah don't have a problem talking about my training with Mystique. My time with her? Most of it Ah don't regret. Her and Irene were probably better parents than ya'd think."

Storm was relieved. "I supposed they were. If who you are today is any evidence of their rearing techniques, I would say they were excellent parents."

Rogue smiled. Rising under Jean's telekinetic powers, she sat, Indian style, on the island, and asked, "So what do ya want ta know?"

Storm settled on one of the stools and asked, "How technical was the training? Was it more about combat and terrorism tactics or infiltration or what?" There was a hint of excitement to her questions: scandalous, curious, and eager all at once.

Rogue chuckled, guessing what Storm really wanted to know, and asked, "Did she train me to be a spy as well?"

Storm nodded. She was eager for the details, one friend to another, not as a leader seeking out the skills and education of her team member, and not a leader wary of the dangers a member could present. 

For Rogue, Storm's response made her behave like a teenage girl with her first crush. Her eyes alit with joy as she exclaimed, "What should ah dazzle ya with first? My deviant stunts?" Storm laughed out loud and Rogue continued, the flourish of her gestures matching the exuberance in her delivery, "My world class marksmanship?" Rogue started to giggle. "My brilliant infiltration techniques? My extensive knowledge o' languages? Ah'm outta practice now, but Ah WAS fluent in Italian, Russian, German, Spanish, French and—don't let Remy fool ya." Storm, still laughing, shook her head at Rogue's silly boasting. "He could use a few lessons from me! What he speaks ain't French. The girls that fall for that mish-mush, thinkin' it's all exotic and classy? Well, let's just say they deserve ta be waitin' on his never-ta-come call for falling for that." 

And that's when Rogue went still and silent, serious. 

Storm was afraid that something Rogue had just said hit a tender nerve, but then, Rogue, quite deadpan, said, "Or all the boring hours—no, years—Ah spent studying blueprints, dossiers, security systems, computer programs, code ciphers, target profiles—oh mah gawd, this one guy, Ah'll never forget. This fat greasy pig o' a man that was Senator Mianni's assistant back in, oh, has to be six years ago now, he was a REAL winner."

The gabbing went on for a good hour between them. Both of them ended up revealing several humorous stories to each other. They were both gasping for breath from the force of their laughter, their faces red, their eyes watering, when Remy interrupted them, saying, "Y' two lookin' at de nudie pictures o' Logan 'n Hank again? I told dem dat none o' y' be approvin' a calendar fund-raiser. Especially since I refused t' exploit m'self in that way."

Rogue and Storm, shocked, looked at Remy, then at each other, then burst into laughter once again.

"Ah can see it, now! 'Gorgeous Men O' the X-Men!' One look at all o' ya'll's hairy unmentionables and we'd be sued for false advertising!"

Another round of laughter from Storm and Rogue followed that one. Even Remy chuckled with them.

"I'm not hairy!" Bobby exclaimed. They hadn't seen him enter and, as contradictory to his status as the resident jokester as it was, felt compelled to defend his own worthiness in participating in such an endeavor as a nudie calendar. 

Gambit passed the teasing onto Bobby, saying, "Non, wit' y' boyish charms we'll be jailed for underage pornography."

Bobby did a Tarzan pose. "Hey, I'm all man."

Lots more laughter ensued at that. 

Gambit, his laughter sobering to a mild chuckle, said, "Well, dis man gettin' hungry." He turned to Rogue, flashing her a sexy smirk, and said, "How about y' let Remy take y' out to de best restaurant in town?"

"Dinner sounds good," Bishop said as he, Sage, and Neal came into view through the pass-thru window leading from the kitchen into the dining room.

"Yeah, Rogue," Neal agreed, "Where's a good place to eat?"

Gambit leaned back against the island beside Rogue, and said, "Why is it every time dis Cajun tries to take y' out, de whole team joins up?"

Rogue giggled, remembering their infamous first attempt at a date. Logan, Hank, and Jubilee had all tried to tag along.

"Because we know you can't be trusted..." It was Bishop. His stern words left them holding their breath, preparing for him to go into another 'so-and-so can't be trusted' tirade. They were shocked when he grinned and added, "...to keep your hands to yourself."

Rogue covered her head, searching upwards as though something was about to crash on top of her, saying, "Is the sky falling? The world must be ending if Bishop made a joke."

Of course, more laughter followed.

They proceeded to make plans for dinner. Rogue ended up not joining them. Instead, she stayed behind, giving them the excuse that she wanted to take in some of her old haunts, alone. After the others had gone, she flew off property to perch in a tree near the riverbank and watch the water's perpetual current. She had a lot on her mind, being back Caldecott, searching for Destiny's Diaries, and so on. Before, her trips back here were for different things, painful, yes, but things she'd been actively dealing with her entire life: The onset of her mutation and the resulting coma that event caused in Cody. After Cody's death, she'd neglected visiting his grave, a complete contrast to her annual visit to his bedside while he was still living. For some reason the idea of visiting the dead sent shivers down her spine. She didn't even think it had anything to do with Cody. It was more like the general nature of the task struck a nerve buried deep inside her. Being here now, with the purpose of the diaries and with everything happening to her lately that had brought up theories of Rogue's early childhood, somehow made that nerve sing all the more. 

Rogue sighed, still panning through her own musings. Despite her confusion and concerns for being there right then, for that purpose, she had to admit that she had nobody but herself to blame for her uneasiness. Storm had at first split the team, half to Caldecott, half to Cairo. Rogue had been purposely asked to go to Cairo. It was her own request that brought the entire team to Caldecott instead.

Originally, Rogue was perfectly content with heading off to Cairo with Sage, Gambit, and Bobby. Even then, when Storm brought up the plans at the meeting in that New York hotel room that she was conveniently invited to late, Rogue's sensitive nerve began singing its high pitched warning about returning to Caldecott at this time. It wasn't until later during a final meditation session with Logan the day before their intended departure that Rogue changed her mind. 

****

~~~~~~~~~~~

"The window's wide open. African tree bent over backwards in a hurricane breeze..." (Man In the Long Black Coat –by Joan Osborne)

A nonexistent breeze lifted up tendrils of Rogue's hair, tickling her neck, igniting her anxiety and thus her stubbornness. Her clothes didn't ruffle and neither did Logan's clothes or his hair. A few leaves flitted, but even then it did not match the flapping of her hair against the back of her neck. 

"I want ya to try something different, darlin'," Logan had said when they settled down, sitting Indian style across from each other. They were in the same area of the woods that he had found Rogue in just before her first episode. Logan had chosen it specifically, and though she seemed oblivious to their location, his senses picked up the sent of her sweat from her tension at being there. It was exactly as he had anticipated, planned, and he told her so in his own way. "Whatever happened while ya were all on your hunting trip for the diaries gave ya more control of the imprinted powers than I could ever give ya with these sessions." He gave her a knowing look, and when she bit her bottom lip in defiance, he continued with a huff, saying, "I'm not gonna push ya to tell me about it, but I'm wonderin' if it released a whole other can of problems for ya. I'm thinkin' that whatever switch was flipped was connected to these things that are happening to ya right now."

"Like maybe she—it messed up? Something went wrong?" Rogue asked, eager and a little fearful.

Logan shook his head, then met her gaze as he grabbed onto her gloved hands to root her for what he had to say next. "No, Rogue. I think it worked better than ya ever wanted it to."

He expected her puzzled frown that followed, and so he wasn't daunted when she tried to pull out of his hold and said, "I think yer off your rocker, Logan."

He tightened his hold on her gloved hands, and said, "Why can't ya touch, Rogue?"

Rogue was stone silent. The nonexistent breeze began thrashing her hair at the back of her neck. Even her clothes at her collar ruffled with it. Everything else was still.

Logan, stubborn in his own right, refused to back down. He asked the next question, "What's yer real name, Rogue?"

The breeze became real. The sound of it twisting and bending the tops of the tall trees reached them. But, Rogue, Rogue was still, silent, biting her lip, stubborn as all get out, yet.

Logan fought the smile of triumph that was urging itself onto his face. He had reached her brink, and he was about to top it and he knew it. He asked the most important question of all, the thing, in his own theorizing that linked it all together, "Why did ya really run away?"

And that did it. The wet snap he felt back in that eerie meeting right in this spot in the woods before her first episode caught him in reverse. He was ensnared by Rogue's powers. He could feel the sticky web-like texture of a tug at his chest. The catch was activated. And it was just as he had planned.

****

~~~~~~~~~~~

"Not a word of goodbye, not even a note, she's gone with the man in the long black coat..." (Man In the Long Black Coat –by Joan Osborne)

The group was in good humor when they returned from dinner. They had eaten at an old country diner that had live music, which Rogue had recommended to them. She hadn't been sure it would still be open, or that if it was, that it'd be run by the same owners, but she had insisted that it had been the best place to eat and be entertained in the whole of Caldecott county when she had lived there. As it had been a long time since she'd lived there, she repeatedly warned them that it may not be the same, and when the group had arrived at the near desolate restaurant, they had feared Rogue's warnings were correct.

They had all been wrong. The place was just as wonderful as Rogue had said it had been long ago. Its lack of patrons, they'd found out from their waitress, was due only to the annual revival being held at First Baptist two towns over. It was the county's biggest affair. It lasted the entire weekend and resembled a grand festival more than anything. Several tents were pitched in the field beside the church in order to accommodate the overflow of guests. Nearly everyone in the county joined in the revival's events sometime over the weekend. Besides spirited sermons, there were crafts, bake sales, chili contests, cookouts, dances, and live music of every type. The revival was, at heart, a celebration of life and faith, not some dreary lecture about the ways of the devil and how temptation and sin would pave the way to hell. Of course, the fire and brimstone sermons did have some of that flavor, but the purpose of the revival was to make people want to embrace the Lord, not scare them off with threats of the damnation of their souls nor bore them to sleep with quiet, solemn services. As a result, First Baptist's revival was the county of Caldecott's biggest party of every year. It was a party few members of the county's population missed out on, and thus, the country diner was about empty, save for the X-Treme X-Men team.

The band that was performing at the diner and the employees there weren't bitter about missing out on the big dance that for having to work that evening. Instead, they brought a bit of the party atmosphere with them to the diner. It hadn't taken long for Gambit, Storm and some of the others to be caught up in the spirit of things. By the end of the night, they were dancing, singing, and calling out "Hail Mary," "Praise the Lord," and "Hallelujah!" Rogue, had she been there to watch Bishop trying to line-dance, would've been thoroughly amused.

It was in the remnants of that spirit that the group returned to the slate-gray house Rogue had pretended she'd grown up in. Bobby and Gambit, each for different reasons, immediately sought out Rogue as soon as they'd returned. Bobby wanted to relay the silly stories of the evening to her and Gambit wanted to convince her to go out with him to the revival for some fun of their own. When neither of them found her, they were a little upset, but also admitted that what they wanted her for was nothing that couldn't wait until the following day. They had all understood the emotional turmoil that possibly connected Rogue with Caldecott and didn't want to intrude on her initial coming to terms with it. But, they also knew she would need those closest to her to really deal with it all. They decided, separately, and then later with Storm and the others before heading off to sleep, that they would give Rogue a little more time with her ghosts before searching for her.

The next morning they were all up doing research and scouting for the diary that had been rumored and deducted to be in Caldecott. Storm and the others wished Rogue was there to help them navigate the area and the possible hiding spots for the diary. But, since they reasoned that the original plan had been based on not having Rogue's help at all because she, Sage, Bobby, and Gambit were to go to Cairo, they figured a few more hours on their own was nothing to be too concerned over. However, when Rogue hadn't returned nor checked in with them by the following afternoon, their decision was reversed.

****

~~~~~~~~~~~

"Somebody's seen him, hanging around at the old dance hall on the outskirts of town..." (Man in the Long Black Coat –by Joan Osborne)

"Yeah, Ah saw her," the bake sale attendant said as she looked at the picture. She passed it over to one of her customers, to get her ascension that the girl in the photo had in fact been at the dance at the revival the night before, and asked, "She was dancing and talking with those other two strangers, right Amy Lee?" 

"Yeah, she created quite a stir, iffen Ah remembah right," Amy Lee said as she looked at it and passed it to her much younger companion.

Remy kept a close eye on the picture as it moved further away from him. It was the only picture he had of Rogue on him, and it was both his most and least favorite picture of her. It was taken at one of their picnic's/baseball games/swim parties two summers before. Rogue looked happy and content and quite comfortable with herself. She was in a bikini top and cut off shorts to boot, and seeing her so relaxed while wearing so little made him very happy in return. It wasn't a picture he was ready to lose because these women passed it around until it was eventually lost.

"Oh yeah!" exclaimed the companion with the emphasis of a scandal. "There was lots o' talk ovah her last night."

"Not that we're ones foh gossip, mind ya," the bake sale attendant said. "It just struck us as odd the way she behaved. None o' us could pick her out as a relative or former resident heah, but she moved around the place like she'd near grown up in it."

"It just struck us as funny, ya know," the companion said, continuing for the bake sale attendant.

"She didn't seem ta be enjoyin' herself at all, either," Amy Lee added. "Seemed a bit scared o' alla us. Now isn't that just the silliest thing ya evah heard?"

"An' those two men," the bake sale attendant interjected, "she didn't seem ta like them one bit, got into an argument with one o' them an' still left with him too."

Amy Lee's nod to that was strong enough that Remy thought she'd be saying 'hallelujah', but instead she said, "An' that was weird, 'cause they were some big guys, kinda dark an' menacing lookin', but she seemed less scared o' them than she was o' us."

"Ya are so right, Amy Lee," the attendant said, "She did seem ta almost relax when she saw them."

The team had split into three pairs to search for Rogue so they could best cover all five towns that comprised Caldecott County. Storm and Remy went to the revival since most everyone was supposed to be there, Bobby and Sage had asked around the town they were staying in and the one just North of it, and Bishop and Neal took the two towns to the South. Storm, Remy, and Bobby each had a picture with Rogue in it that they could use to ask about her. Storm had given up her photo to Bishop and Neal to use, since she and Remy were using his.

"Could you give us a description of these men," Storm asked. 

"Well," Amy Lee answered, "that wouldn't be hard at all. They did stick out like a gator and a croc on yoh front porch."

The attendant continued for her, saying, "They both looked a bit a like, though. Real dark hair, big muscular builds, kinda stern an' self-righteous, like they were better than alla us. Oh, an' they had long coats like yoh's suh." She indicated Gambit's brown trench when she said that, "But theirs were both black."

"Made me think they were part o' some big city gang or something," Amy Lee added, again with the scandalous tone of hers.

"No, they were more like secret government agency types," the companion said with enthusiasm. Both Amy Lee and the attendant rolled their eyes at the young woman even as she continued, saying, "Ya'll know what ah mean. Those conspiracy types, all dressed in black, driving black cars with real dark tinting, wearing black sunglasses ta hide their appearances..." She paused in her excitement, then added, "Only they weren't dressed identically, an' they didn't have sunglasses on, an' they weren't together."

"She's got something there," Amy Lee said, forming her own hypothesis. "They weren't part o' some gang, unless they were from rival gangs. They didn't come near each other an' they gave each other mean looks."

"Yeah, an' their coats were different," the attendant said, jumping in. "The one with the darker skin and long hair, his coat was more like yours, while the other one's coat was more o' a cloak. It had a sorta Victorian feel about it."

The attendant's words sent a chill through Gambit. He turned to Storm and mouthed the name 'Vargas' to her, and Storm nodded her agreement. That fit the description of the longhaired man, but they still were confused over the other one. 

Satisfied with what they'd learned from these women, and wanting to discuss it amongst themselves and to inform the others of their discovery, Gambit reached for the photo that the companion still held and said, "T'ank y' for helpin' us."

The companion, as she went to hand the picture back, unfolded it. The crease in the picture had been so worn in that at first she hadn't noticed it was folded at all. As she opened it, she saw the other half of the picture included a young man with long silvery hair and icy clear blue eyes. The woman they were asking about was sitting directly in between him and the very man they were speaking with, Remy. When folded, the picture seemed to be one of just Remy, slightly grim, but with a mischievous glint in his eyes, and the girl, Rogue, who seemed to be turning away, smiling at something Remy had just said that made her blush. When unfolded, it was clear that Rogue was smiling and blushing as she was talking to the man with the silver hair. This was the reason it was also Gambit's least favorite photo, for the reason that the picture made it seem she was so happy. Gambit knew it was really that they were on down time and having a good time, but it looked like it was Joseph, now deceased, that made her so happy. And his feelings on that subject, especially since Joseph was dead, made him a bit guilty feeling. So, he had kept the photo, for mixed reasons, but kept it folded.

The companion studied the man with the silver hair, and then her eyes lit with recognition. "He looks a lot like that guy, Mag—"

"You've been a great help to us," Storm interrupted as Remy took back the photo. She had a feeling that their being associated with Magneto in any way would not bode well for them in their search for Rogue. "We really must continue looking for her, though."

As they started away, Amy Lee called after them, saying, "Don't forget ta visit mah quilting booth! Ya won't find better stitching from a Quiltin' Bee this side o' the Mississippi!"

Ororo waved and smiled politely back at them. Once out of range, she and Gambit consulted and contacted the others with the information they'd learned.

****

~~~~~~~~~~~

"He looked into her eyes when she stopped him to ask if he wanted to dance. He had a face like a mask..." (The Man in the Long Black Coat –by Joan Osborne)

Rogue surveyed the interior of the biggest meeting hall of First Baptist, which was currently serving as the main dance hall for the revival. When she was sitting up in the tree looking out over the Mississippi, she had seen a modest fireworks display glittering in the water's reflection just after full dark had set in. Something seemed familiar about it and she followed the colorful display to its origins at the revival. Once there, her nerves sang exponentially louder, convincing her to check it out. There was a connection here. She just knew it. She just couldn't place a finger on it.

**__**

"Not a finger, eight years." Salt and vinegar, it was Fifteen.

**__**

"It's heah." That was the real Eleven. Her pause gave the feel of her searching the room with Rogue's eyes even though it was Eleven's memories that were being examined. **_"But it's befoh even meh."_**

**__**

"It's the most secret." Edgy and sad, Thirteen. **_"Even Ah can't access it. Heck, it ain't even part o' mah catalogue. It's just inside."_**

**__**

"More depraved than meh, more fearsssome than Herrr," Nineteen's chickory voice hissed.

Rogue noticed that Impostor Eleven hadn't come forward with the others. She stayed quiet, infusing herself only on the outskirts of Rogue's consciousness, ever since the mission with Kitty. Other than the one time during the meditation session with Logan, Impostor Eleven had done nothing more than watch, wait, and plan. She made no attempt to manipulate the catches, or even to speak to Rogue. It was suspicious to say the least, but it also made Rogue wonder if Impostor Eleven was afraid.

**__**

"Too-oo-oo-oo-oo much-uch-uch-uch-uch depends-ends-ends-ends-ends on-n-n-n-n chance-nce-nce-nce-nce occurances-ces-ces-ces-ces."

Rogue about jumped out of her skin. Fifteen rolled her eyes. Thirteen seemed bored, untrusting. Eleven scowled. It was half mischief, half annoyance. Nineteen laughed, haunting, taunting, her usual way. It wasn't like true conversation when they all spoke, but more like internal thoughts or telepathy. They each stayed in their own domains while Rogue remained outside her mindscape, surveying the rowdy hall during the biggest dance of the entire revival. Rogue could feel their mental gestures, expressions, and emotions like through a telepathic link, but she couldn't actually see them. It was in this way, that she felt and heard all of them.

__

"Ignore them, Rogue," Emma's ghost said, meaning the remains of the dead catches, "_I try to most of the time. They like to sound ominous and over-dramatic. They think it makes them important."_

**__**

"Great, it's the Queen Bitch o' the Universe," Fifteen said. Her sarcasm was as thick as the tart and bitter flavor and texture of her voice. **_"Are ya heah ta rescue all us peons from our own ignorance?" _**

**__**

Laughter. Haunting, taunting. **_"Correction, Fifteen. She'sss sssecond next ta Herrrr."_**

__

"Correction again"* child Cody's ghost said, sing-song._ "She's third, aftah ya."_

**__**

"Yeah, ya big wimp," Eleven said, fists balled on her hips, ready to pick a fight. **_"So, why dontcha just shut up an' go cower from Her. It's all ya seem good at anyway."_**

It was Thirteen who came to Nineteen's defense. Thirteen may not have trusted people easily, but she sure found it simple enough to sympathize for them, despite her training against it. She said, **_"We're all afraid o' her, Eleven. All o' us."_**

"So says the great and powerful Librarian," drawled Fifteen. **_"Let us bow ta yoh pre-teen wisdom."_**

**__**

"Leave her alone, Fifteen," Eleven said, jumping to defend Thirteen. **_"Aftah all, ya are bitch numbah four."_**

Emma's ghost cleared her throat, interrupting their bickering, then said, _"The point we're here to make, dear Rogue, is that you need to be careful."_

__

"Like Ah needed ya'll to tell me that," Rogue said, or rather, thought to them. "_Now, if ya'll don't have anything actually helpful to offer, Ah'd suggest ya let me get back to what Ah'm doing."_

"I wasn't done," Emma's ghost said with annoyance. "_You need to be careful, BUT you need to stop sitting on the sidelines. We're doing all we can for you from in here. You could at least do a little something to help yourself out there."_

__

"What do ya think Ah'm doing right now?" Rogue asked, somewhat offended.

__

"You are standing against the wall, waiting for one of them to make a move first," Emma's ghost said, indignant.

Rogue sighed, stubborn, but relenting. She glanced, left, then right, one black coated man skulking in the shadows, and another one brash and challenging at a table under the brightest light in the entire dimly lit hall. These two men were the 'them' that Emma's ghost was referring to. The brash, challenging one was Vargas. The other... well, Rogue had her hunches about him, but outwardly, he was nobody she recognized. She suspected some sort of shapeshifting or image inducer was involved. She'd only caught a couple quick glimpses of him as he moved closer and closer to her, passing in and out of the light as he did so, but he wasn't anyone she could pick out as knowing specifically. Because of that, she figured him the greater threat. She didn't know his motives or intentions for seeking her out. Vargas, on the other hand, was an annoyance she understood too well.

__

"As much as I hate to admit it, Rogue, Logan was right"* Emma's ghost said,_ "You need to face up to all of this. You need to take some of the chance out of it."_

It only took a moment for Rogue to make her decision. The ghosts, the personas, and the remains of the dead catches all faded back from the forefront of Rogue's conscious mind as she moved to confront the first of the two men. She wanted to sneak up on them, one at a time, but they both kept their attention directly on her so she didn't bother. She walked right up to her first choice, the one she saw as the most threatening, the one skulking in the shadows, and asked, "Care to dance?"

A smile spread across his handsome face. He _was_ handsome: tall, dark, an air of dignity and confidence, and a certain Old World grace to his mannerisms and speech. After all, the scariest villains were always the most charismatic too, the most likely to easily lure you in. This attractive, cultured man raised his arms up in preparation of a waltz that didn't match the music, and said, "I wouldn't be a gentleman if I declined such a fascinating offer, now would I?"

Rogue got chills when he said 'gentleman.' Despite everything about him, every bit of her told her he was no gentleman and that he was hinting at other things with that statement, especially with his wording of 'fascinating.' She took up his arms, still, and began to dance with him. They found their own waltzing rhythm within the contrasting music of the live country-rock styled band. It was awkward, sure, but what better way to confront your demons, she figured, than to dance with the devil him self? Whoever he may be.

****

~~~~~~~~~~~

"And somebody said, from the bible he quote, there was dust on the man in the long black coat..." (The Man in the Long Black Coat –by Joan Osborne)

Bobby rolled the ice cube over his tongue. He'd been making them and sucking on them all day to fight the awful heat, despite the time of year. He was waiting for Sage to say thank you and goodbye to the hardware shop owner from just outside the shop's door.

The two of them had been walking up and down the streets, showing the picture of Rogue, asking if anyone had seen her, and searching for hints of her whereabouts. So far, they'd not had any luck. With the Revival going on this weekend, the streets were pretty empty. Most of the people they encountered were those who had to work and those who weren't sociable enough to attend the revival. And because of that, they were getting more brush-offs than information.

Crunch! Bobby chewed the last bit of ice, swallowed it, and formed a new one right inside his mouth to do it all over again. 

Sage came outside and they continued up the street. An old time styled barbershop, complete with the candy cane post outside, was the next business on the street. Two ancient men sat outside, smoking pipes and watching people on the street. Sage and Bobby approached the two men, both who gave them the once over, unsure what to make of the strangers that Sage and Bobby were to the town. 

Sage passed Bobby the picture of Rogue, Bobby's picture, actually, and said, "Your turn."

The picture was from the road trip he and Rogue took. Well, the one he sort of followed her on, to keep an eye on her because he was worried about how much of Gambit was controlling her after she'd absorbed him with that last ditch kiss in Israel. It wasn't a very accurate picture, to tell the truth. Not only was it a few years old, but it showed her with a completely different look. Her hairstyle was different: longer, wavier, and flowing. She was wearing Gambit's too baggy trench coat, which completely disguised her body type and misrepresented her height. It made her look small and young like a teenager. It was taken at night, and yet she had on sunglasses to conceal the red on black eyes she'd retained from absorbing Gambit. But her face could be seen, its shape, its softness and subtle show of inner strength, and most distinguishably, the unique dual tone of her hair. Because honestly, Rogue's white streak was generally the primary identifiable physical trait she had. Even people who had followed the punk trends and dyed their hair with similar stripes didn't quite capture the same appearance that Rogue's natural tresses did.

Bobby had kept that picture on him not because she looked beautiful or happy or any other reason such as those. It was a keepsake of what he hoped he'd meant to her, been to her, during the road trip. It also reminded him that he wasn't as close to her as he wanted to be. Reminded him that she hadn't let him be as much a friend to her as she had been to him. That she likely knew of his feelings for her and, though she had stayed close to him, she had been discouraging his pursuit of her. Perhaps, he was just kidding himself when thinking there was ever even a possibility they could be a couple. 

It had been Bobby, himself, that had taken the photo. It was in Miami, where he had first found her after Gambit's personality had her breaking into that museum. She was sitting on a pier railing, about a hundred yards out past the shoreline. She was just staring off into a dark so illusory that the sky hardly separated from the ocean at the horizon. Even the sparkling reflections on the water's surface seemed to be easily confused with the twinkling stars above, like she was sitting in a cocoon of black velvet sprinkled generously with silvery glitter. She wore the sunglasses in that darkness because Gambit's eyes, being still new to her, were sensitive to the reflected light of the moon and the stars and the night clubs lining the boulevard behind her. Or maybe she was just hiding them... him... Gambit. Bobby had never gotten that bit of information out of her for certain. For as much that the sunglasses and oversized coat—with its collar pulled up—had hid of her, the expression on her face was clearly visible. She wasn't pouting. She didn't even seem to be introspective or sad or melancholy, but she was as distant and unreal as that muted horizon line that didn't quite separate the sky from the sea. The picture didn't show it, but Bobby knew that right then Rogue and Gambit were only as far apart from each other, as seamlessly separated, as that night sky and sea were. The division between Rogue and Bobby, on the other hand, was as evident as the place where the hushing, slapping waves washed upon the sure, steady shore. After Bobby took that photo of her he had vowed silently that he would be her shore so she could flop onto his lap every time she stretched her reach from that place where she didn't quite separate from the night sky when it was dark.

With a sigh, Bobby handed the two old men his photo of Rogue, and launched into his spiel that ended with, "Have you seen her around?"

The old man sitting closest to the hardware store took the picture from Bobby. He looked at it briefly, sat it in his lap to pull out his bifocals, and then picked it up again to examine it more thoroughly. He squinted even with the glasses. After going back and forth between looking at it from over and through his glasses, he finally said, "Nope, can't rightly say as ah have, young man."

The old man then tried to pass the photo to his people-watching companion. As the first man had possession of it, this second one had flicked his eyes at the picture with a steamy scowl. And now that his friend tried to pass it over to his inspection, this second man just waved his hand at it like he was swatting at a fly. 

"Ah don't need ta see it, ta know ah ain't nevah seen her," the second man said. He then gestured towards the street and the few people moving around on it. "Aaron, we sit out heah every day watchin' these folks an' ya know that ain't neither one o' us seen any strangers—'cept foh these two—in the last few weeks, at least."

Aaron, the first old man, shoved the picture at his friend again, quite stubbornly. "Just look at it foh these kind folks, Joe. Quit being such a hard ass."

Bobby chuckled at their grumbling. Sage cleared her throat, but Bobby kept on chuckling until Sage said, "But she isn't a stranger here. This is her home town."

Joe's scowl deepened and with a grumpy huff, he snatched the picture from Aaron.

Bobby questioned Sage with his eyes, but she ignored him. This frustrated him. He wanted to know why she told Joe and Aaron that Rogue was from this town. They didn't know that for sure. They only knew that Rogue was from Caldecott County, not which town of that county. She had to have had a purpose for telling Joe and Aaron what she did. And she'd said it with such surety, Bobby almost believed her. He kept watching Sage with that same questioning look until Aaron, slapped his though and said, "Aw hell, he's back."

When Bobby turned he was surprised he hadn't smelled the man already. The man, moving with heavy, shuffling footsteps, was heading straight for them, only a few feet away. The man was a drunkard or a loon, Bobby suspected. He was likely homeless because he hadn't obviously bathed, nor washed nor changed his clothes in a very long time. His hair was greasy and ratted into odd twisted dreads with leaves and twigs sticking out of it in places. His layers of clothes he wore were thin and stained and worn. The man reeked of ammonia, likely from urine, of excrement, the non-human kind, and of sweat. The scent was so strong Bobby had to spit out the ice cube he was sucking on because it suddenly tasted like the man smelled.

The ice cube bounced twice and stopped right in front of the man. Bobby held his breath as the guy looked to Bobby, then to the ice cube, before he bent over and picked it up, saying with a beaming grin, "Ya lost something there, kiddo!" He carried it over to Bobby, holding it up in a palm that was brown from dirt and calloused.

Bobby cringed and said, "That's okay, I don't need it."

The guy frowned, as though confused, then his eyes widened with hope, "Ya sure? That's a right fine lookin' diamond."

"I'm sure, Mister," Bobby said, "I don't want the ice anymore."

"Well, okay then," the guy said. He stared at it, marveling over it like it was indeed a precious jewel, then popped it in his mouth and cooed.

Bobby gasped, cringed, and slapped his hand to his mouth all at once just as Aaron stood, shaking his fist at the guy, hollering, "Get outta here, Byron, ya danged fool!"

Byron, as Bobby and Sage now knew him as, looked like he was about to cry. He spat the ice cube carefully into his palm, wrapped his other hand around on top of it to make sure he didn't lose it, and said, "Ah didn't steal it, Aaron. Ya heard him, right? He said he didn't want it no more."

"See this is why we don' got no tourism around here," Aaron exclaimed in exasperation, "Ya always scaring them away!"

"Hey, it's okay, really," Bobby said, placating the fairly irate Aaron. Bobby thought the guy was strange and all, but he also felt a tinge of sympathy for a guy who treasured a simple piece of ice as much as he did.

The photo was then shoved into his face by the more ornery Joe and a gruff, "She ain't from here," sounded in his ear.

"Sure, thanks for your help," Bobby told Aaron, getting annoyed with the guy. Bobby figured even if Rogue was his neighbor as a kid, he'd still be adamant that he'd never seen her. The guy didn't want to help and Bobby didn't want to bother with him anymore. There were still a lot of other people left in the town to talk to. He'd rather get on to speaking with them and get away from this cranky old man.

Bobby pocketed the picture and headed closer to Byron. Sage watched him with her neutral, analyzing gaze, but was then left to deal with Joe's continuing crankiness. 

Behind him, Bobby heard Joe tell Sage, "She lied ta ya. Aaron an' ah know everyone that ever lived in this heah town. She ain't nevah lived heah." Even though Joe's tone was softer and more sympathetic, Bobby still preferred doing something for Byron than dealing with Joe right then. 

The previously chewed ice had all but melted away in the palm of Byron's hand. He now looked at his empty but wet hand like he'd lost his best friend. Bobby covered Byron's palm with his own, flashed him a smile, and activated his mutant powers. When he pulled his hand away, ice cubes spilled from the man's hand like magic. Bobby winked and said, "It's our secret."

Byron, overjoyed, said, "Ya got a God given gift there. Thank ya, thank ya lots. " Then he shook Bobby's hand so enthusiastically, he lost a few of the ice cubes. Ignoring the lost diamonds, as Byron saw them, Byron's eyes lit up further when he saw the picture of Rogue in Bobby's other hand.

"She yer girl?" Byron asked. He said it like Rogue was last season's harvest princess. He whistled appreciatively and added, "Yer one lucky fella."

Bobby blushed, but tried to correct Byron's assessment, saying, "Oh, she's not my—" But, Byron clapped a hand on Bobby's shoulder, pulling him a little from Sage and the others, and just kept on talking. 

"A girl like that," Byron boasted, "beautiful her whole life, strong willed and caring, is something ta be thankful foh. Yer ice trick? That's nothing compared ta her. Yoh truly blessed by God, sonny. Truly!"

"Um... okay... uh, thanks," Bobby said, figuring it was futile to try and correct him. But then something Byron said, struck Bobby as interesting. It could've been Bobby's wishful imagination or Byron's insanity, but the way Byron had spoke of Rogue seemed like he knew her... or had known her. Assuming it couldn't hurt to prod, Bobby said, "I was glad to come with her to visit her home town. It's the least I could do for her."

Byron grew suddenly serious. He curled Bobby closer to him, making sure they were out of earshot of the others, and with all chilling sincerity, said, "I didn't like carrying mah brother's weight on mah shoulders, but it was a burden I'd bear again."

Bobby stumbled back and out of Byron's reach. Something about what Byron's words felt more real than figurative to Bobby. An image of Byron carrying a limp body in a fireman's hold flashed in Bobby's mind, freezing him to his core.

"Uh... sure... uh..." Bobby said, tripping over his tongue as he stumbled back to Sage. "Thanks for your help and... uh... have a nice day," Bobby said to the barbershop duo as he pulled Sage away and around a corner.

Once they were out of the way, Bobby leaned back against a small brick structure, like a sign, and exclaimed, "If this is where Rogue's from, I know why she left it. Man, those two old guys were annoying but that other guy was whacked!"

"They recognized her," Sage said in analytical calmness.

That stopped Bobby. He blinked at her in disbelief, and stammered, "What?"

"They haven't seen her in a while, I don't think," Sage clarified, "But, they knew who she was. Joe may not be the nicest person, but he was glaring at her picture like he had a personal claim in our asking about her. Aaron, as cooperative as he seemed, was surprised at seeing Rogue. He didn't have that hard a time seeing the picture. He was just shocked to see who it was. He was badgering Joe, not to be more helpful, but in an attempt to cover."

"Okay," Bobby said, confused, "How do you know that? They didn't do anything different than any of the other people we've talked to."

He didn't need to hear her saying, "Exactly my point," to realize what he had just said. 

"I think most all of them know her," Sage said. "I think this was her home town. Either that or she lived somewhere nearby..." She looked at the surrounding buildings and landmarks in her view. To her right and behind her, where Bobby faced, was a field with some old half-collapsed, half-blackened buildings. After that was the river, a rail-bridge crossing over it even further in the distance. To her left was the main street of town and the quaint suburbs beyond. "...Someplace that these people would've frequented."

Bobby's face paled. He had just worked some connections out and he hoped he was wrong.

"Remember what the waitress told us about the revival last night? About why the first revival was held?"

Sage realized Bobby had paused to wait for her agreement, so she nodded then said, "The original church had burned, killing the pastor and his family." She sounded like she was reading it from a brochure or encyclopedia. "On the anniversary that the new church was built, the Revival was held to end the mourning and boost the populous' morale. In 198—"

Bobby's raised hand stopped her. "Yes, that's it, but, what I'm trying to get at is that the old—"

"Church is right behind me," Sage said, finishing for him. She pointed to the brick structure he leaned against. He turned around to see it was a sign and plaque and information doctrine for the historical site that the remains of the old burned down church, the museum like home the pastor's family lived in beside it, and all the land in between had become.

"Oh, yeah, that," Bobby said with a faint laugh. His mirth was short lived though; his expression darkened again and he asked, "You think Byron was crazy?"

Sage quirked an eyebrow and asked, "Why do you ask?"

"'Cause I think he was trying to tell me something."

****

~~~~~~~~~~~

"Preacher was talkin'. There's a sermon he gave. He said, 'Every man's conscious is vile and depraved. You cannot depend on it to be your guide when its you who must keep it satisfied.'" (The Man in the Long Black Coat –by Joan Osborne)

Rogue was meditating with Logan in the woods outside Xavier's.

She was in a hotel room. It was dank and musty and everything she needed so she could be in Cairo incognito. She was looking out a window. The old, imperfect glass was bubbly and had a gentle wave in it signifying that over time the glass had been settling down towards the bottom of the frame. It gave the view a distorted look. For some reason, she could see past the bazaars and shacks, and could see banks and gush of the Nile. It made her feel small and insignificant. It was large and close, a rushing death trap just steps from her back porch.

It didn't seem right. It seemed more like home. She even saw cattails edging it. Were there supposed to be cattails along the Nile? 

She was reaching for one, to help her examine it better through the glass, and she was through the glass. Her fingers didn't stop at its cold presence, but slipped through like it wasn't even there. She reached through and touched the cattail. She had to reach high though, cause it was so much taller than she was. And that was odd because she was tall. It had been years since she had to reach above her head to wrap her palm around one of the umber tops of a cattail. She knew the soft look of it was deceptive, so she expected the usual feel of dry and crumbly spores against her palm. But she had been deceived again. It was soft and velveteen and moist.

A pungent and stinging odor flared. It was sweet though. She looked away from the banks where she stood. She had to peer through the cramped stalks of cattails to see a vast expanse of desert, past the Sphinx and some pyramids to check and see if something was cooking or burning in the city beyond. But there was no smoke there, so she figured it had to be the strange breed of cattail in her hand.

She caressed her finger over it and realized that it didn't have the right shape for a cattail. It was tall, and it was a stalk, but it didn't even have the umber color, the porous feel, or the corndog-ness of it. She shook her head. She was being silly. Of course it wasn't a nest of cattails she was standing in. She was in Egypt. It was a stalk of a lily she was holding in her hand. She didn't know why she kept calling it a cattail. She knew it was a lily. It was soft and velveteen. It was vanilla white and mint green in color, though not scent. Its flower was large and inviting. It was a Madonna Lily, after all.

She reached in to touch the pasty spores at the tip of the stamen that protruded out from its center. It was farther away than she thought. She had to reach in and in and still she couldn't touch it, touch the thing that stuck out past the opened petals. Deep inside, she wiggled her fingers and their tips could just brush the edge of the tip of the stamen. The inner walls of the vanilla petals pressed around her tiny stretched hand like a comforting mother's hug. It was soft and velveteen and warm, and when the petals folded inwards and wrapped around her hand she sighed to welcome the embrace. She was in Cairo, being held by a Madonna Lily as she stood in the Nile, a sweet and stinging burning scent filling the air, the water rising from her ankles to her knees, her thighs, she hips, her shoulders... and she felt like she was finally home.

A tug at her waist and she looked up from where she was stuck in place in the middle of the river. The tug fought the current, like she'd been caught round the middle by a lasso and noosed into place. Along with the current, but jut a bit more forceful, her hand was being pulled forward, fighting the tug at her waist from behind. It was the Madonna Lily pulling her forward guiding her down stream. She knew what that was and for some reason accepted it as normal. Of course Lily would be guiding her that way. The tug from behind was new though, she thought, at least it felt awkward and new, so she looked back for its source. Behind her, many miles away upstream the rope from her led to Logan on the banks, in the woods outside the mansion. She could see clearly that the rope attached, sticky and web like at his chest. He nodded to her, eyes warm and forgiving... and cautious. She understood though. He had been with her this entire time. She'd just forgotten about him, but he'd never left her. He was there to jump in and pull her out if he needed to. His nod was a reminder of that, and so she knew it was safe to keep searching for the Lily's center.

The noose slackened and she was moving once again. But the pull didn't seem to be the same. For some reason it felt like she was going down, being sucked under, spinning, whirling, choking for air as the water bubbled into her mouth. One hand was reaching upward towards the sky. Manhattan was there, and West Chester and Washington and San Francisco and Venice and Caldecott and gray hair and glasses for the blind. Caldecott was above and below. Her other hand, hugged by the Lily's enclosed petals was pulling downward. But she didn't want to go there. She didn't. There was smoke there and a train chug chugging, but the Lily was soft and warm and velveteen and embracing her and ensuring her everything would be just fine. 

Under she went. A pull from above and her face broke the surface of the churning water and it poured in her mouth and she was choking. Under, she couldn't breathe, but she wasn't coughing or choking either. Up, and she swallowed more than she wanted and had to spit and gasp. She just wanted it to end.

So it did. 

She was on the riverside clutching to Irene's hand. She was soaked as a drowned river rat. As she coughed out the smoke and the water she caught sight of the whirlpool as the Lily was pulled under and swallowed whole.

"Ah want mamma," Rogue sputtered out between coughs.

Irene helped her stand, she was surprisingly taller than Rogue, and Irene pointed up to the apartment on 47th Avenue in San Francisco. "She's arguing with me about Carol."

Rogue looked into the window and sure enough she could see Irene and Mystique arguing. "It's no wonder ya two never figured out the diaries, 'Renie," Rogue said to the person who's hand she still held. "These visions o' are more jumbled than Logan's past." 

Rogue gave the hand a squeeze, but the hand squirmed and tried to pull from her. Confused, she looked at the grasp. Her bare hand wasn't holding a hand, but a bare arm. She looked up, following the arm she held, and found the struggling face of Carol Danvers. Rogue gasped, and tried to break free, but couldn't. Not at first. Something was wrong. When Rogue finally could let go, her head was screaming, a whirlpool all of its own, and there was a limp weight in her arms. She looked down and saw the blue lifeless eyes of what had to be a dead woman, or near enough since it was Carol. Rogue freaked and dropped the woman and flew off. When she realized what she'd done, she looked down to see the woman disappearing under the ocean's surface. 

Rogue clutched her own throat. She could feel the liquid and smoke burning her throat as she was pulled under by the ocean's tide. She shook her head. That wasn't her; that was Carol who was drowning. That was Carol trapped in her head scrambling for control and to understand what was happening. But, she was drowning and coughing and sputtering in the smoke and the water. And she couldn't get enough air. She collapsed to her knees, trying to force air in. 

...The situation was desperate. And if her life was the price to save... So be it...Strangest sensation... As if every atom of her being had instantly become aware... While top to bottom and out body and soul... The woman she was had been blown to bits.... Then, just as suddenly, startlingly, terrifyingly, she was back together again! [4]

An enormous intake of breath caused a nauseating shift inside her and she vomited on exhaling. There on the carpet in front of her was a limp and wilted Lily. But it was only a bud... sort of. It was small and young and yet fully formed. She closed her eyes at the sight of it. It made her head hurt. Nothing made sense. 

A television was on. A reporter talking about the death of Mystique. Her mother was dead. That couldn't be right. She had to go. She had to help her mamma. She jumped out of the window to fly off to her mother's side, but she tumbled down and landed in the street. She couldn't fly. She had lost her powers. The Siege Perilous had weighed and measured her and deemed her worthy and now she was free. She was new.

__

"... You alone sweetheart?" Reavers in Australia.

__

"Itsy bitsy spider went up the waterspout..." Memory, but not her memory... exactly. Caldecott, home, hurt.

__

"...She's cute, she's perky, she's southern, with a skunk stripe in her hair... Big as life but half as sassy..." Reavers in Australia.

"Down came… the rain," she turns the faucet head, but it is rusted shut. She's watching, but she's doing it too. "to… wash the… spider out." In her floating state of mind, she realizes not the strength she has, and with a grunt, gives up her efforts of turning on the water. She pouts, but with her shunted memory, she remembers that pouting is bad, although not why, so she stops.Memory, but not memory. She's her but she's watching. Her hand once held by a withering Madonna Lily, swallowed, spat back out.

"Rogue?" Logan asked, leaning over her crouched form stabbing at the dirt at her feet with a stick to the rhythm of a nonexistent train chug chugging in the near distance.

Revenge. Carol. Australia. Savage Land. Seething. Shared. Losing. Guilt. Penance. Separation. Removal. Integrated. Blocked. No penance. Saved? 

"Out came the sun... and dried... up all the rain," she continued as she jabbed the stick into the faucet spout, into the dirt in the woods outside Xavier's where she's meditating with Logan, punctuating the places where the sobs had been from where the memory of the song began. 

"Rogue..." Logan had crept up to her, watching her curiously and cautiously. A few moments before, she had been sitting Indian style across from him. Her hands were relaxed on her knees, her breathing steady, her eyes closed, as she was meditating serenely with his aid and guidance. Then she was up, scrambling on hands and knees to the same spot he'd found her in just over a week back right before the first episode in Bobby's presence. What they had all thought was the first episode, at least. The exactness of what he saw now to what he had seen then, her crouched over, singing and half-sobbing in a small voice, stabbing at the ground with a stick, made him wonder if the episodes had been going on longer than they had realized. Perhaps what he had seen that day was the first. Perhaps it was something even much, much earlier.

"Then the itsy... bitsy spider," she gave one final jab with the stick before giving up. She remained in her crouched position, her knees tucked against her chin, as she turned her attention to the ground as she sees it between her knees. She lightly poked the ground there with the stick, as if testing its readiness, its durability. 

"Rogue... I think we should stop now," Logan said. His voice was gruff, but tentative.

"Went up… the spout… again, " she sang sharply. The last word was as pointed as the stick she stabbed into the ground, pulverizing the stick with the strength her memory had neglected earlier with the spout since it was out of context with the memory itself that she now neglected with her unrealized emotions. The stab echoed in her stomach. Avoided memory took imagined form. 

The ferocity and violence of her actions, of her complete submersion in the visions, be them forgotten memories or from Irene's powers, he didn't know which, but her actions were starting to concern him. He didn't like how it was going. He didn't like that it seemed out of their control. He didn't like that he was feeling a great anger and sorrow tugging at his chest in the same place he felt the catch. He wanted it to stop.

He grabbed her shoulders from behind and he expected that what had happened the first time he caught her like this would happen again. He thought she would jolt back, slam her knees together and fall back. He thought the impact caused by the strength of her recoil would slam her back into the dirt and that with a resounding, "Umph," her lungs would seize and the air rush out. [5]

But she never even turned around.

He was flung back. He could feel the magnetic powers she'd gotten from Joseph and Magneto pulling at the adamantium in him, as it threw him high against the tall trunk of a sturdy pine.

"Umph!" The air was forced from his lungs when he hit and a sharp, piercing pain shot through his right lung. He didn't feel the hold on the adamantium, so he expected he would fall to the ground, but he didn't. The pain in his lung burned and he looked at his chest to see a short broken branch protruding there. Another one poked through his left thigh. That was why he wasn't falling.

He stole a glance at Rogue, to see how she was. The most startling thing was that she had attacked him. He feared she wasn't in control. Especially, since the catch at his chest, now that he knew what to feel for with it, felt odd, strangled, and just well... different.

Rogue was still crouched on the ground, but she was now half-facing him and balancing her weight on her palms too. Her face was contorted in some sort of internal struggle. Whether she was battling some pain of her own, fighting against something or someone trying to take control of her as Carol had done a few years before, or if she were battling some other thing, he wasn't sure. For the moment, as long as he was suck up in the tree, though, she was on her own. And he wasn't about to let it stay that way.

He gripped on to two sturdy looking branches on either side of himself, to steady himself with the pain and to keep his balance should either branch protruding though him were to snap from his weight. Ready as he was going to be, he yanked his thigh off of the branch, snarling, "Yyyarrrggggg!" 

The pain was near unbearable, but he knew his healing factor would take care of it in a moment. Sweat beaded all over him and he was panting as he was letting the pain subside a bit, or at least let his body get used to it. He took a couple of huffing breaths to yank himself forward from the branch through his chest, but couldn't...

"Logan stop," Rogue panted, still fighting whatever battle she was fighting herself. "Ah can't... she's... just wait a minute!"

He wasn't even sure if she was really talking to him. He tried to pull himself off the branch again, but he was weak, getting dizzy, becoming confused, and there was a tugging through the catch he felt at his chest. As his head fell, boneless, to his chest, he had to fight just to keep his eyes open. He blinked and blinked, his vision getting blurrier and darker with each one.

Blood was pouring from his thigh. His femoral artery was punctured. He wasn't healing.

And as he blacked out completely from the blood loss, clarity struck him. The difference in the catch he felt at his chest was that it didn't feel like Rogue. It was halting his mutation, his healing factor. Impostor Eleven had taken control of his catch from Rogue and it was that control that Rogue was fighting for. But by the time the thought was formed he was unconscious and didn't expect he'd ever know the truth of the situation.

"Logannnnneeeaaaarrrrg!" Rogue grunted as she fiercely punched her hand into the soil, gripping a root buried there and yanked it up. That was what was mimicked outside her mindscape. It looked like that real action, but the real action of her motions was inside her mindscape. There, she had reached into the bundle of catches, grabbing the one that was Gambit's. She was desperate to save him and had no idea of how to fight Her. But, she had remembered Gambit creeping through his own catch to help her in her dream, in Nineteen's forced and embellished remembrance. She took hold of his catch, captured it, tangled it with Logan's, and set to charge Impostor Eleven's shimmering cloud form within its place in Logan's catch to force Her out of it.

Her mindscape quaked. Web strands burst forth all over, spreading, coiling, multiplying, and patterning to ensnare Rogue herself. And even as Rogue felt those sticky strands reach further and further through out her, she noticed that they didn't consume her. She was still in control. She was still master here. And with a surge, Rogue drew Impostor Eleven painfully out of Logan's catch.

It was in Rogue's hands now.

As Rogue worked on it—she'd only just purposely accessed a catch for the first time when Logan was taunting her before they began the meditation session--Impostor Eleven's shimmering cloud form expanded, heated, and finally dissipated in a furious scream. All the while, Rogue focused on Logan's catch, coaxing it to somehow do what she wanted it to do. She needed to give him back his powers so he could heal himself. She tugged on it, squeezed it, bounced it and more, but it stayed dull and limp and lacking the luminescence it held when Impostor Eleven had been controlling it. She was tiring. She could feel herself splitting between Gambit's catch, keeping the charge loose with that catch to keep Impostor Eleven at bay, and using the rest of her energies to try and re-activate Logan's catch herself. And the weaker she got, the more she feared she wouldn't make it. He would die while she was trying to figure out how to manage her own mindscape and that was not satisfactory to her.

She released her hold of Gambit's catch then, letting it fall back into the bundle of all the other catches. The glow of her controlling it faded away and she felt the split of herself pull together to completely focus on Logan's catch. A faint hum filled it; illuminated it the tiniest bit. But it wasn't enough. She was tired, nearly drained herself, and it wasn't enough!

She could feel Impostor Eleven floating up and around her. With the charge generated with Gambit's catch ceased, Impostor Eleven was taking advantage of Rogue's weakness. She was prepared for Rogue to lash out at her to keep her at bay, but she wasn't prepared for Rogue to ask for help.

__

"Tell me how to do it!"

Okay, so Rogue didn't exactly ask. But it still shocked her. Rogue needed her. And she was filled with joy. Immediately, the shimmering cloud halted its advance and encumbering on Rogue's mindscape form. Gently, reassuringly, she said, **"_I will fix it."_** It was everywhere and nowhere all at once.

__

"No!" Rogue yelled. _"Ah sure as hell don't trust ya. Tell me how oa do it, now!"_

Impostor Eleven backed off. She was stunned and a little... hurt. 

__

"Ah won't let him die, Sugah," Rogue growled, _"But Ah won't let ya be my dictator either."_

The cloud shimmered, a glow rippling through it that Rogue first took as anger. But, as the cloud swirled and caressed her shoulder, Rogue realized it was more like pride than anger.

Everywhere and nowhere, and softly vibrating against the shoulder she caressed, Impostor Eleven whispered, **_"You just have to touch it."_**

Rogue's head whipped around to face the bulk of the shimmering cloud form. She held up the catch in her grasp and said, _"What do ya think Ah'm doin'?"_

**__**

"No, touch_ it, Rogue,"_ She whispered, dissipating. **_"Touch doesn't hurt so much anymore... remember?" _**

And Rogue remembered and the shimmering cloud wafted away from her altogether. Rogue had felt pleasure from that experience. It hadn't been romantic love, and though it was lust and need, it was more rewarding than what most would consider a simple fuck. There was healing in their having sex. There was friendship in it. And though some people felt a betrayal from what she and Logan had done which granted Rogue guilt for it, the pleasure of it, the satisfaction of it, the lack of pain from it, had far outweighed the rest. Rogue would not regret what she had consented to, what she had happily partaken.

Rogue stripped off her gloves in her mindscape and gripped Logan's catch again. It soared to life. It throbbed at her beckon. It shone with her possession. And before she was too tired to do so, she gave him back himself.

Outside the mindscape, Logan was waking. Blinking back his vision, he found himself lying in Rogue's lap. Before even checking himself out, he sat up and looked her over. She was asleep on the woods leaf covered ground. He didn't feel the catch anymore, and even though he knew it wasn't a tangible attachment to his chest, he touched where he had felt the connection on him. Surprisingly, a small shiver went through him when he did and Rogue awoke.

With a tired moan, she rolled onto her back, her hand reaching where he had just been, but not finding him. Her eyes snapped open and she jolted into the air, hovering, searching for him frantically.

"I'm right here, Rogue," Logan said tugging her back to the ground by her ankle. He gestured to his chest and thigh, where branches had punctured him, and said, "Ya fixed it up just fine." He waited for her to settle completely back on the ground, watched her raise a tentative gloved hand towards each healed wound, not touching, but checking it was real nonetheless, before he asked her, "Did ya do it?"

Rogue looked at him confusedly, then smiled with amusement when Emma's still on telepathy told her he was referring to whether she had beaten Impostor Eleven at her own game.

"Not exactly," Rogue said, stepping a safe distance back from him. A few small tears had been made in her clothing during her struggle and she didn't want to accidentally render him unconscious again.

Logan frowned at her withdrawal and Rogue laughed out loud, saying, "Did ya really think that li'l stunt o' your's was gonna fix me, Wolvie?" It was rhetorical and Logan had the compunction to at least smirk at her. It was a bit of a preposterous idea that in one session of pushing her to her edge she would suddenly have all the control she ever desired for herself.

Rogue kicked at the leaves then met his searching gaze of her. "It was too much, Logan. That's why she did what she did. She thought Ah'd get hurt. Afraid ah couldn't handle it." She kicked the leaves again and looked away, "And she was right. Ah couldn't have even helped ya on ma own. She had to tell me how."

Logan sighed and scratched his bristly chin. "So yer basically tellin' me I made it worse?"

"No, ya didn't," she said, "Ya were right actually. What ya was tryin' to do an' all." She turned to him and eased herself into the air as simply and instinctually as most people breathe. "Ya just can't do it for me."

"What are ya going to do now?"

"Dig up a few roots, Sugah."

And she flew off to find Storm so she could plead her reasons for the whole team needing to go to Caldecott.

****

~~~~~~~~~~~

"It ain't easy to swallow. It sticks in your throat. She gave her heart to the man in the long black coat..." (The Man in the Long Black Coat –by Joan Osborne)

Storm disconnected the cell phone call with Sage.

"Don't like that look y' givin', Stormy," Gambit said.

"You'll like Sage's theories even less," Storm answered.

"Merde! What now?" Gambit spat with vehemence.

Storm rested and comforting hand on his shoulder, questioning the strength of his reaction as well.

"Now I knows it's bad," Gambit said with a slight sigh. "Y' didn't tell me not to call y' Stormy."

****

~~~~~~~~~~~

"One. Two. There are no mistakes in life, some people say. It's true, sometimes, you can see it that way..." (The Man in the Long Black Coat –by Joan Osborne)

Caldecott County Courthouse housed the Mayor's offices, the county commissioner's offices, the county clerk's offices, the assistant DA's offices, and the school superintendent's offices. Bishop and Neal were waiting inside the conference room to meet with representatives from all five. Neither Bishop nor Neal knew why the superintendent was coming. 

"They sure are taking their time, aren't they?" Neal asked. It was rhetorical.

Neal was slouching in one of the chairs on the side of the long center table. He was plumb tired after walking and questioning the locals all day. They were one more stop short of breaking to meet with the others over dinner to discuss what they had all learned about the possible location of the diary rumored to be in Caldecott as well as Rogue's disappearance when Storm asked them to retrieve some information at the courthouse. 

Go to the county clerk's office, fill out a form requesting a copy of some public records, and bring the files to dinner for them all to go over and discuss. Those were their instructions. *_Easy_,* Neal had thought. 

That was an hour and a half ago. 

When the clerk came from the file room and went directly to her supervisor's office rather than just bringing them photocopies of the records as had been done for the four people ahead of them in line, Neal knew there was no 'easy' about it. They were told they needed approval and were led to the conference room to await a meeting to plead their reasons for wanting the specific records they requested.

"This is absurd," Neal complained again. He was a little stressed that Bishop hadn't said one word of protest. "They are public records, free and available to the public. We shouldn't need approval."

Bishop looked from the bookcase to a painting on the wall and to the door leading out to the main hallway. All three were on the same wall, with the painting centered between the bookcase and the door. Bishop silently read the small plaque below the painting. _Original First Baptist Church of Caldecott_, it read. _'Sometimes the good is burned with the bad, but as ashes it all blends together.'_

Well, that's nicely cryptic, Bishop thought.

Neal leaned forward over the conference table. He asked, "Doesn't this bother you at all?"

"Storm said that Bobby and Sage were having similar difficulties at the library," Bishop said. He walked around to the other side of the table and viewed the bookcase, the painting, and the door from there. "I am not surprised, is all, Neal." Bishop looked at the window on the wall adjacent to the bookcase.

"What are you doing, Bishop?" 

"This is familiar," Bishop answered Neal. He was puzzled. "But, it is different... wrong." He looks from the window to the bookcase. "I've seen this before... somewhere... but I think the bookcase and the window were reversed." He shakes his head. "I'm just not sure though. I've never been here before, not since I came to this time, and it would have been in ruins in my time."

Neal stood. Something about the bookcase having caught his attention. As Bishop groaned, annoyed at not being able to pinpoint the reason for his déjà vous, Neal took a peak out the door down the hallway at what should have been the other side of the wall from the bookcase. With a broad grin, he came back in the room and said, "Ever see Panic Room?"

"No, I have not," Bishop said.

"Well, it doesn't matter," Neal said. "Prop that door closed and help me move this."

Bishop did so, but questioned Neal with a glance as they shifted the heavy bookcase away from the wall and in front of the window. A door was revealed.

"It was a door, not a window," Bishop mused, "That was the problem."

"What are you talking about?" Asked Neal as they went into the hidden door.

Bishop found a light switch and it worked. They were in a small filing room. It was in the space between the conference room and the elevator in the hall. 

"I remember where I'd seen it before," Bishop explained as they each rifled through a different dust covered wooden filing cabinet. 

"Where?" The first drawers they checked were anything special.

"In a painting that hung in the Witnesses chambers." The middle drawers held files irrelevant to them and their purpose.

"Who's the Witness?" The bottom drawers were the same as the middle drawers.

Bishop paused in thought before answering, though Neal moved onto another cabinet.

"Someone I do not think will ever come to exist now," Bishop finally said. He checked the remaining cabinet.

"Why's that?" 

"Many reasons, really," Bishop said, musing to himself. He looked to Neal and added, "You and I joining the team being among them. Jubilee is no longer the last addition to the X-Men."

"You do realize that wasn't a very helpful response, right?" Neal said, chuckling to himself. In all honesty, Neal hadn't expected a better one.

They were silent for the next few minutes of their hurried search. They had to be careful since they didn't know when the five would eventually show up... if they ever intended to.

"A-ha!" Neal announced happily as he pulled out three file folders. "Got it!"

Bishop glanced to him and nodded, but didn't cease his own search just yet. From his cabinet he pulled out a metal box with a lock on it. It was locked.

"Could you?"

Neal shrugged, unsure of Bishop's reasons for wanting inside the box since Neal already had the information Storm had instructed them to get, but he did what Bishop asked of him regardless. With a tiny, precise use of his powers, he melted off the lock. Bishop absorbed the excess energy from it.

Bishop opened the lid. A moment after peering inside, though, Neal knew Bishop had found something. An honest to God smile broke Bishop's usual serious expression.

"The painting was titled _'Memories Hidden, Futures Revealed,'_" Bishop said as he held up his find.

Libri Veritatum, Volume Twelve.

****

~~~~~~~~~~~

"People don't live or die. People just float. She gave her heart to the man in the long black coat." (The Man in the Long Black Coat -by Joan Osborne)

Rogue flew off to perch in that same tree near the riverbank she was in while the team went to eat, and, again, she watched the water's perpetual current. It always helped her keep things in perspective. When the entire world seemed to be about her, dependent on her, revolving around her, weighing on her, the river's flow reminded her that she was no more than debris in the flux. It wasn't a metaphor describing some sort of low esteem she held for herself. Debris wasn't garbage. Debris was a branch, struck free of its tree... a person making its way in the world on her own without her family. Sometimes that branch would get hauled up on the banks, snagged on a root, caught up with other debris for a time, or some other such event that would hold it in place, fighting against the current of the river. Those were the times when the water swirled and buckled and rippled just for it, when life around her behaved the same. After a while, the bank would lose its appeal, the snag would tire and lose its hold, the other debris would break apart, and the current would carry the branch along its course. This parable, this parabola, returned to mind as Rogue watched the ebb and flow of the Mississippi, and she made her decision. She'd been stubborn, holding rigid against the current of her environment ever since that incident with Logan out in the woods, even before the first episode that had occurred in Bobby's presence. She hadn't really been making any headway. She'd just been fighting off the inevitable, trying to make it all seem as though none of it was happening. She'd just been holding still, forcing everything around her to swirl and buckle and ripple around her. But now, now it was time to rejoin the ebb and flow, the current of the world that set the course of her problems. It was high time she dealt with them.

She looked down to his shadow, black as his coat that swayed gently with the breeze. The coat reminded her of Remy, though it was different, less fun and less free, more strict and old world. Remy would be dead set against what she was about to do. He'd surely figure out where she went and chase after her. There was nothing she could do to prevent that. And, in a way, she didn't want to. Granted, she never wanted to be some lame damsel in distress, but it was nice to know that he would rush to hell just for her. And so, Rogue wondered if she was leading him directly to Hades in the Underworld? It wasn't likely Remy's slippery tongue and card tricks would procure Rogue's release. And if per chance they did, would Remy trust enough to not check to see if Rogue were following him out? Would one of them be swept back into the Underworld's depths by Hades? And who was truly the one leading the other through Hades, Remy or Rogue? Ignoring gender, which of them was really Orpheus and which was Eurydice? [6]

"Ah'm comin' with ya," Rogue said. He wasn't even startled. He just nodded barely. She continued, though, with vehemence, saying, "But Ah got my conditions."

She floated down to him, still behind him and to the side. She was looking at him now, and he was watching the current. A stuck branch suddenly moved along with the flux. It wasn't just floating, it was gaining speed. It intrigued him.

"They ain't negotiable, so don't even try," Rogue said, stern and unyielding. "It's my way, or nothin'."

His head bent in her direction, but his gaze remained on that gaining branch almost out of his sight, and said, "There are always strings attached, aren't there?"

The branch was gone from Rogue and the man's field of vision, blocked off by bushes and an old train tracks bridge across the Mississippi. 

Rogue took a deep breath, and even though her nerves were singing still, she felt renewed. She looked at the now clean flow of the water and said, "Yeah, well, sometimes it's cuttin' those strings that gives ya the most control."

The man sighed, and then smiled at her. It was as sharp as his bared teeth. "Yet there still remains an aspect of chance, doesn't there?" 

****

~~~~~~~~~~~

"There's smoke on the water. It's been there since June. Tree trunks uprooted in the high crescent moon..." (The Man in the Long Black Coat –by Joan Osborne)

"I don't know what to say," Miss Orella, the Clerk of the Circuit Court, told the fuming Mr. Gyrich upon seeing the state of the conference room. 

The room was empty of its expected occupants, Neal and Bishop, who had made no attempt to disguise what they had done before leaving. The bookcase was still in front of the window. The revealed door was wide open. The lock box was sitting out on the conference table.

"I don't know how they could've known," Miss Orella added lamely.

"Where's Dominic," Gyrich snarled past his gritted teeth.

"Who? Oh, Mr. Beauregard said he'd be waiting in his office." She reached a shaky hand to the phone on the conference table, and said, "I'll tell him you're—"

Wham! Gyrich's hand slammed onto the table. "Don't bother. Like you said, he's already waiting."

And with that, Gyrich stormed off to the Mayor's office.

****

~~~~~~~~~~~

"Gave a pulse and a vibration and a rumbling force. Somebody's out there beating on a dead horse..." (The Man in the Long Black Coat –by Joan Osborne)

"If ya know what's good for ya," Rogue said, panting, "Ya will stay down." 

Vargas grunted, clutching his split open shoulder as he tried to stand.

"Didn't think so," Rogue said. She called up Magneto's powers, and along with a dose of Emma's telepathy, forced Vargas to sleep. He collapsed to the ground in a heap... and snored.

"Ha!" Rogue's bark of laughter came unbridled as she saw him. "Should've done that a while ago."

She wiped her hands on her thighs. And surveyed the mess their fight had made. One tree was uprooted, half in the water. A Vargas sized plow mark remained from where she had thrown him. There were other broken branches and upturned soil and both of them looked just as disheveled as their battlefield did. It was a shame he wouldn't back down from the fight; not that she really expected him to.

Her confrontation with the first man in the black coat went quickly and smoothly. Wasn't even worth calling a confrontation. It had been rather polite, all things considering. They danced, traded witty banter—hers more on the side of down home charm—his laced with conjecture and a surprising amount of distinguished eloquence. By the time one song had ended, he had made her his offer and asked that she answer after she'd dealt with the other, less patient man in a black coat.

That other one had been Vargas.

As soon as she had neared his table, Vargas had started in on his redundant tirade. Rogue had thought, _He really is a one hit wonder that won't get while the getting's good,_ as she persuaded him to move their argument to a less populated locale. That's what led them to the abandoned paper mill on the opposite side of the river. Rogue hadn't even set down on the ground and he'd already had his sword drawn and slashing for her.

Even healed and controlling all her absorbed powers, he hadn't been easy to defeat. Part of the difficulty was that she didn't want to kill him or even injure him too much. That would just unnecessarily fulfill the prophecy of the diaries. Another part was that he was just that good. But, all in all, she was getting more familiar with his fighting technique, so there was that edge she had on him.

She'd rather have had a chance to talk to him as opposed to fight him. She really wanted to know how he knew she would be there. She also wanted to know where his copies of the diaries were. As he was now technically asleep, her only remaining choices were to absorb him, which she adamantly refused to do if it were possible, and it was, or to retrieve the information with Emma's telepathy. 

Unfortunately, she never did get his diaries before taking up the other man's offer.

****

~~~~~~~~~~~

"She never said nothing, there was nothing she wrote. She's gone with the man in the long black coat...." (The Man in the Long Black Coat –by Joan Osborne)

Unbeknown to Gambit, Storm found him perched in just the same spot in the tree overlooking the Mississippi as Rogue had sat in twice since their arrival. One of those times was when she made her decision to leave Caldecott without any word to her friends and teammates. That had been part of the man's offer to her: Come with him—no telling them—and he would help her solve Union on whatever terms she asked of him. They didn't know that yet, and if they did, they wouldn't have believed he was sincere anyway.

"We will find her, Remy," Storm said as a greeting. Even she knew it was a poor one.

Remy turned to her and tried to grin. His effort failed as much as hers had.

She settled herself beside him on the great limb of the old tree. For a long while neither said anything, just the comfort of silence when no words seemed able to heal.

"We never did get to have that conversation 'bout Logan and all," Gambit said. It was so filled with defeat it belied his acceptance. "And you know what? I don't even care about that any more. Right now I just want t' see her flash me one o' her sassy grins and hear her call me swamp rat again."

Storm squeezed his hand. "And you will, my friend. We all will."

"We'd better," Gambit said, his eyes flaring danger, "Or there'll be some hell t' pay."

"She's gone. She's gone—Gone with the man in the long black coat." (The Man in the Long Black Coat –by Joan Osborne)

****

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

FOOTNOTES:

[1] Aleatory—as defined by Webster's Collegiate Dictionary—Depending on an uncertain event; of or pertaining to luck or chance; (music) employing the element of chance in the choice of tones, rests, durations, rhythms, dynamics, etc. 

[2] Samantha Cain was the amnesiac schoolteacher who discovered she was really the spy, Charlie Baltimore, in the movie The Long Kiss Goodnight. 

[3] Gambit's using honey in his coffee instead of sugar is just another one of the characterization bits I took from the fan fiction Blind Sight. More information on Blind Sight can be found in the author's notes at the very beginning of the first chapter of this story.

[4] Paraphrased (to match tense of chapter) from Uncanny X-Men #269.

[5] This entire passage with the "Itsy Bitsy Spider" song is rephrased from chapter one of this very story.

[6] The reference made involving Orpheus and Eurydice is The Tragedy of Orpheus and Eurydice, a Greek myth. See below for a summary of the myth itself as reminded to me by Roguechere.

****

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

The Tragedy of Orpheus and Eurydice

As relayed by Roguechere

****

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Orpheus was the mortal son of the Muse, Calliope. He was a cheery boy and always had a song to sing. He was in love with a sweet young girl named Eurydice, who was mutual about the feeling. They planned to be married, so of course in the land of the gods, they had the best wedding ever. Someone must of been pissed at her because just after the wedding she was bitten by a poisonous snake. Immediately Hermes came for her and brought her down to Hades. Orpheus was desperate so, moved by hope of getting his beloved back he went down to the realm of Hades. How was he to get in? He played like a   
summer breeze on his lyre and sang as best he could. His song burst open the gates of Hades and Cerebrus was too moved by this song, so he lay down and rest. He reached the cold King and Queen of the Underworld, Hades and Persephone, and this was his challenge. He played a million times better than ever before, tears rolled down Hades' frozen cheeks and Persephone begged her husband to let Eurydice go back to the world of the living. Hades consented on one condition; Eurydice was to follow Orpheus. If Orpheus looked back at her she would have to return to the cold unloving world below. On their way up to Earth he saw the horrid Furies weeping blood, still from the effect of his song. Orpheus was almost to the sunny world above when doubt crept into his mind; had Hades deceived him? Had Orpheus been tricked by stingy Hades, who was just trying to keep more souls? He pushed those thoughts away. They pushed their way back into his head and he couldn't bare his mind any longer, he turned and saw Eurydice. The minute he looked at her sweet face, Hermes appeared next to her and led her back down the path to Hades. Orpheus had lost the love of his life on a lack of trust. Orpheus had lost all faith and love in the world, he never found joy ever again. He continued to sing, but this time he sang mournful songs, so sad that wild beasts and rocks wept. To add salt to his wound, a band of wild nymphs, the Maenads, who were talking so loudly and weren't touched by his music, demanded he dance with them. Orpheus refused and the drunken Maenads tore him to pieces and tossed his body into a river. The Muses grieved so much they searched the world for his body when one day he washed up on the shores of Lesbos. His mother and aunts gave him a proper funeral, and finally he joined Eurydice as a flittering soul in Hades.  


****

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~


	15. Chapter 15 Chicanery

****

Author's Notes: To all reviewers: Thank you, thank you, thank you, thank you so much for your comments. I can't tell you how much I appreciate them. 

****

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Seether

Chapter Fifteen – Chicanery [1]

By Randirogue

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

"Had me a trick and a kick and your message. Well, you'll never gain weight from a doughnut hole. Then thought that I could decipher your message. There's no one here, dear. No one at all." (Doughnut Song –by Tori Amos)

"Okay. So, maybe this wasn't the smartest choice Ah ever made," Rogue said to the empty room once she fully took it in. She was on a cold slab table. She had tubes and electrodes running from her. Sinister was behind a glass and lead wall working the controls to all that was hooked up to her.

"It's your terms, Rogue..." Sinister answered. His voice sounded hollow and starched through the speakers.

What he said was true. He'd kept to her conditions completely thus far. As soon as she had gone from Caldecott with him and arrived at his base—surprisingly in the outskirts of Vancouver, Washington, only a skip and a hop from Seattle—first thing Sinister did was enact the conditions she had placed on him.

Before they had even left Caldecott Rogue had told Sinister, "My conditions, non-negotiable, are... One, Remy's debt is fully repaid. No more dragging him back in. That's it, finito. He has no more obligations ta ya."

Sinister had raised a brow at her audacity, but didn't get a word in edgewise.

"Non-negotiable. Ya don't agree Ah walk away right now. Your choice."

Sinsiter's brow stayed raised, but he nodded once, curt.

"Two," Rogue continued, "This Scott, Jean, Nate, Cable, Madelyne...stuff? All that stops. No more." That time, Rogue raised a brow to him, questioning his gall to tell her 'no.' 

Sinister's answer was no more than a stoic silence rounded off with a burgeoning grin.

"Three, before Ah forget this point, Ah don't owe you anything for this. _You_ came to me."

"And I suppose next you'll ask for me to dispose of my genetic sampling library?" Sinister's grin had grown, like a sign of pride, like he knew something she didn't.

"No," Rogue said. "If what ya had in mind was worth that much to ya, then Ah wouldn't be interested... Ah think ya know that."

"I'll find a loophole no matter what your stipulations are," Sinister said, oozing confidence.

"Maybe... but not on these points Ah'm insisting on. Ya sneak your way around them, and Ah'll come huntin' for ya. Ah promise ya that."

"Need I remind you how ineffective your powers were on me last time?"

It was Rogue's turn to grin. She knew he knew about her current power status... knew he had to be toying with her, but it was still fun to show him. She pulled off a glove, held her hand about a foot in front of her eyes, and concentrated for a moment. Then she blinked. When her eyes opened, Scott's beams shot from her eyes into her hand, where, using Bishop's powers, she absorbed the energy back into herself. Another blink, another moment of concentration, and she opened her eyes, free of Scott's power.

"Scott and Alex's powers always hurt ya, Essex," Rogue said as she pulled her glove back on. "Ah always wondered why that was..." [2] 

"So, Remy and you debtless," Sinister said without any signs of being perturbed. He was unimpressed by her taunt. "And the Summers' and Grey's lineage research and productivity terminated... anything else?"

Rogue turned back to look at the water. The sight of a swirling and drowning eddie got her remembering her vision during that last meditation session with Logan before the team left for Caldecott. She decided she wasn't going to just react anymore. She was going to act. She wouldn't be a burden to the others anymore. These demands on Sinister, making this decision, this was one way of acting, of breaking her current trend, and it gave her a chance to help her friends in the process. She kept focusing on that, wracking her brain to make sure her conditions covered all major possibilities... knowing she couldn't logically tackle everything, but trusting herself that she'd covered the most important aspects. 

She had to trust herself.

"Two more things," Rogue said, watching that miniature whirlpool unfurl back into the slow meandering current again. She felt triumphant that, for first time since these episodes began, she no longer felt caught up in an eddie of her own. "You answer all my questions as we go. Ah'm not naive enough to think you'll disclose it all. But, ya answer what Ah ask, when Ah ask it, explain what ya do as ya do it, or Ah walk."

"And?"

"And Ah'm not your prisoner while Ah'm there. Ah don't expect ya to let me poke through all your stuff, but Ah can walk around freely. No cells, no restraints, no inhibitor do-hickeys... none of that kind of stuff."

"Agreed."

"What ya want me for is worth all that to ya?" Rogue asked with incredulity.

"And then some."

Rogue just shook her head in disbelief. "I'm missing a catch somewhere. Ah just know it."

"Perhaps," Sinister said, "But we are both content with what each is receiving. The health and safety of you and your teammates are secured from my direct influence. Debts are considered paid in full. You aid me in valuable research into the state and being of mutancy in humans. You will not be harmed in this, but will gain insight into your own current problems, solutions even. You will not use this as an opportunity to lead the X-Men to my doorstep and take away all of my work."

That had been the sole condition of his: if the X-Men attacked during her visit with him—as he so politely put it—the deal was off. She wanted him to have one, at least one condition. If he allowed her too much say in all this, then she wouldn't have trusted the arrangement in the least... not that she trusted him as it was. But, that stipulation of his was why she hadn't left any word with Storm and the others. What could she have said to them? 'Hey ya'll, Ah'm takin' a vacation on my own, but don't worry, Ah'm not in any kinda danger?' She wouldn't lie to them, so she said nothing. 

She'd done a lot of that lately... saying nothing... so she wouldn't lie to them. She was feeling rather guilty for it, but she'd learned long ago—with the help of Logan, Xavier, Gambit, Storm, and all the others—wallowing in guilt only tripped a person up. She'd seen it eat away at Gambit. She'd been infected by guilt herself on more than one occasion. 

__

There was this sermon Ah heard when Ah was little..._ Ah think... by... by... Oh well,_ _it ain't important now, Ah guess, since it's the theory that means the most._

Accept and move on. That's what they'd all taught her. Mystique, too, though in different words and under different terms. Too bad Rogue had found that she'd mixed up 'accepting and moving on' with 'ignoring'. Now she was trying to correct that problem. For all her skills and knowledge gained under Mystique and Irene's tutelage and rearing there was a reason she never proclaimed herself brilliant by any means. She made stupid mistakes as often as the next Joe did; got caught up in herself, in petty emotions, just like anyone else. The question was, would that moment—there and then with Sinister—be another one?

"We both will profit," Sinister had restated.

Rogue had bit her lower lip, thinking it over. _Ah know Ah'm missing something. Ah know it._ She met his stoic gaze. _Well, girl, it's now or never._

"Ah know Ah'll regret this," Rogue said holding out her hand to him to shake on it.

Sinister laughed... a full-bellied laugh at the hand shake proposition from her... but took her hand and shook it. His laughter abruptly ceased when she lifted him into the air.

"Better give me directions 'cause we're traveling my way."

Her way had them flying over a dozen states to land atop an abandoned hospital on the outskirts of Vancouver, Washington.

****

~~~~~~~~~~~

"And if I'm wasting all your time this time, maybe you never learned to take. And if I'm hanging on to your shade, I guess I'm way beyond the pale." (Doughnut Song –by Tori Amos)

Bittersweet. Sage, Storm, Remy, Bishop, Neal, and Bobby mulled in the living room of the house Rogue had rented. They had another diary. They had information about the history of the burned down church, public records files on the family involved in it... people they were thinking were part of Rogue's past. Bittersweet. They had evidence that local officials were involved in some sort of cover up involving the church and Rogue's subsequent running off when she was merely eight years old. They also knew that the town's officials had possessed and protected one of the diaries. They didn't know why, though. Bittersweet. From various townsfolk, they'd learned Rogue was confronted by two men. One, they assumed was Vargas. The other, identity unknown... but some of the congregated group had their theories about just who he was. Bittersweet. Rogue had been in a fight with Vargas. Bittersweet. Rogue was gone without any word or trace... possibly with the unknown man. Bittersweet.

"It's a fake," Sage proclaimed as she turned the final page of the diary. She set the book on the coffee table, picked up her cup of tea and sipped it as the others stared at her... 

"..."

...Waiting for more. 

When Sage was done sipping her tea, she set that back down and flipped through the diary, showing it to them as she did so. 

"All of these images are from the books we already have in our own possession," Sage explained. "The book's a pieced together duplicate. It's not exact to any of the books that we've seen. It was bunched all together to make us think it was real at first. But, even the ink is too new."

"We've been set up," Bishop said, sparing a harsh glance at Remy. "Figured there had to be too much of a coincidence with that painting."

"Yes," Sage agreed, "It appears that Irene predicted our search as it occurred." 

"Well, she is a precog," Bobby said. His frustration and humor twisted into a not so light-hearted sarcasm. As he had spoken he added some sugar to his coffee, which seemed too bitter right then. Four spoonfuls just wasn't enough. 

"But what purpose would that serve?" Storm asked, returning their focus back where it belonged.

"To mess wit' us?" Remy said with a sardonic chuckle. Like Bobby, he was overloading his coffee... but with honey instead of sugar. "From what Rogue's said, 'n Storm, Irene doesn't do t'ings wit'out a reason. We may not understand dat reason, but dere's one dere."

"And this," Sage said, flipping to a specific page and holding it open for the others to look at, "is the reason."

The picture resembled pictures from several other books they'd seen or heard about. The edges were bordered by drawings of Rogue stabbing Vargas in various ways. Within those boundaries were variations of other familiar images. Rogue, lying on Gambit with Vargas' sword through them. Rogue, clutching a bleeding chest wound, going through physical and power manifestations of those she'd absorbed before. Rogue, with leashes sprouting from her that lead to various forms of herself and others in black hound uniforms—including all of the members of the current rosters of the X-team's. There was one of Rogue in a boxy machine. All of the images crammed onto the page involved Rogue in some way except for four of them.

"These additional four are what Irene wanted us to see," Sage said. "I think."

"Impostor Eleven?" Bobby asked when he saw the swirls of smoke/cloud wrapped around a tall, spindly flower.

"Sinister..." Remy hissed when he saw the diamond splashed with red on one figure's face.

"But who are these two?" Asked Neal, pointing to an unspecified middle-aged man and an older man with a cane.

Storm leaned in for a closer look. "I don't have any idea. They could be anyone, with the way they are drawn. Nothing about them stands out at people we know of."

KNOCK! KNOCK! KNOCK!

"!!!"

KNOCK! KNOCK! KNOCK!

"I'll get it," Bishop said, brandishing his weapon. The others weren't far behind him as he opened the door.

"We know yer in there," came a voice muffled by the door, "Now open the damned door!" 

Bishop pulled open the door to reveal ornery Joe's weathered face. At first sight of the enormous Bishop, Joe's mouth snapped closed. Joe's friend, wily Aaron, however, pushed his way in, ignoring Bishop and the others as he rushed directly to Bobby. 

Well, rushed as much as the near-blind old man could rush.

"They took crazy Bryon," Aaron spat, almost accusatory, into Bobby's face. "Ya gotta help us get him. They're gonna kill him fer sure this time." 

Aaron latched his wiry fingers onto the front of Bobby's shirt and started hauling Bobby after him as he headed back out the door. Bobby was so surprised, the old coot actually yanked him a few feet without much protest from Bobby.

THUNK!

The barrel of Bishop's weapon bumped the doorjamb to block Aaron's path.

"Nobody's going anywhere until you tell us who you are and what this is all about," Bishop said. His tone left no room for argument.

"We ain't got time," Aaron snipped frantically to Bishop. "They took Byron a couple hours ago... he could already be a goner. Ya'll are his only chance!"

"Awwww hell! Ah done told ya they wouldn't help us," Joe grumbled. "They're only here fer her. All anybody evah cares about is her. All o' us caught up in the middle are just slop fer the hogs." He gave a tug on Aaron's arm, jerking him, and by default, Bobby, a few inches forward.

"No," Aaron said stubbornly. His face was red with his intense panic and rage. "My sistah, Gawd rest her soul, would never forgive meh if Ah let Byron get killed like this. It's their fault he's in this mess, and by Gawd, they're gonna get him outta this."

"Small town's all be de same," Remy said, his voice surprisingly warm and calming. He gently took hold of Aaron's wrist and carefully began prying the old man's wiry fingers from Bobby's shirt. One of Remy's deft fingertips contacted with Aaron's tarnished gold wedding band. It was something he could charge if it came to that. Remy wanted to placate the scared old man, but he wasn't taking any chances. Continuing, Remy said, "Everybody's related some way or another t' everyone else, non?"

"Yeah," Aaron said. It was barely more than a half-choked whisper. Aaron was on the verge of tears. He was fighting it with the grit forged by a life of hard times, few luxuries, and relying on family and neighbors to get you through the day. It was grit common to many of the people in Caldecott.

Aaron allowed his hand to be removed by Remy. Afterwards, he just let his hand flop dejected, defeated to his side. His gaze soon followed suit.

"Aw hell, ya done broke the poor sap," Joe complained as he clapped a leathery hand on Aaron's shoulder. As abrupt and lacking of gentility as it was, the gesture was one meant to comfort his long time friend. "Always was too damned emotional fer his own good," he added, eyeing the group with annoyance. He gave Aaron's shoulder a good squeeze then pulled back.

"Y' want us t' help y' kin," Remy said. The calm and warmth was still apparent in his voice. "And, I'm t'inking dat if we help dis Byron, we'd be helping Rogue's kin."

Joe huffed. "It's a long story," Joe said, "Too long ta tell ya if yer ta have any chance of doin' Byron any good. Ah'll give ya the brief sum-up, though. Any questions ya get will just have ta wait 'till after ya done rescued him." 

Storm stepped forward then. Her wise and soothing voice reassuring him as much as her words when she said, "We will do what we can to help you."

"Short version," Joe said, "We know the girl yer looking fer. Haven't seen her in a long while, though. Knew her from when she lived here. Her grand-pap was the preacher at that burned down church. He all but ran this whole county. Byron was one o' his older brothers. Aaron's sister was Byron's wife. A bunch of weird, nasty shit went on, back when Caitlyn up an' ran off, that got just about everyone 'round these parts bottled up tighter 'n—Ah don't know, rightly, but damn tight-lipped, ya know?"

A deep breath, then, he continued, "Byron was somehow caught up in it, sideways like. Saw more 'n was healthy fer him." 

"They've roughed him up more times than we could rightly tell ya," Aaron interjected.

"Ya gonna let me finish, Aaron? We're sort of pressed for time, hear," Joe quipped harshly. Accusingly, he continued to the others, "Ya'll comin' 'round heah, poking yer noses everywhere, asking too many questions, got folks all riled up. The wrong kinda folks, if ya know what ah mean. They got wind o' Byron's jabbering with the fair boy there and figured Byron done loosed his lips. Ain't that a crock. Even if Byron said something, it's not likely it was even sane. He'd been roughed up so many times he's just a loon now." 

"But they took him anyway," added Aaron gravely.

"Where is he being held?" Storm asked.

"Ah'll show ya," Joe said. He looked them over, then said, "We'll have ta take more than one car. Ain't no way all o' us fittin' in just one."

"You want to come with us?" Bishop asked, surprise, evident in his voice.

"Ah ain't got time ta draw ya a map, so yeah. It's quicker this way. Don't worry, we ain't got no pipe dreams o' gettin' in on the action. We'll stay a nice, safe distance back. We ain't idiots, ya know."

****

~~~~~~~~~~~

"And southern men can grow gold, can grow pertty. Blood can be pertty like a delicate man. Copper to steel to a hinge that is faltered that let's you in, let's you in, let's you in. Something's just keeping you numb." (Doughnut Song –by Tori Amos)

"Caitie ain't all sunshine and roses like yer delicate Lily was," Byron said, his voiced deadened by the straw strewn on the ground and piled along one rotting-wood wall. Still, the other occupants had no problem hearing Byron's ramblings.

There were seven men there. Overkill for someone like Byron, but it wasn't only for Byron. Three of the men weren't local. Henry Peter Gyrich, dressed in suit and tie, was there along with two secret service types of his own. Gyrich winced as he watched two of the locals, burly thugs land blow after blow onto Byron. 

Still rambling, Byron said, "She made friends with an ice-maker—"

BAM! Another blow.

Byron didn't even shake it off. He just kept on jabbering with nothing more than a mildly confused expression washing over him after ever blow. He didn't understand why they kept hitting him. If they just stopped hitting him he could tell them the good news... which reminded him...

"—If ah gave him a handful of milk and a chocolate bar, do ya think he'd make me some ice cream? Ah ain't greedy, mind ya, Ah appreciated those diamonds. Boy was Ah grateful fer them—"

"Shut him up!" hollered Dominic Beauregard, mister high and mighty youngest-nephew-of-the-old-burned-down-church's-famous-preacher. 

Fancied up in his Mayor's suit and tie, Dominic was still an oily man. He had black hair, slicked back. He was constantly smearing on chapstick or rubbing lotion into his hands. Everything about him seemed greasy. Even though he wasn't as smooth around the edges as his forefathers he was still a Beauregard, through and through. With his name and family connections he could've been a lot more than just Mayor of that small town in Caldecott where his uncle's old burned down church was a historical site. He always claimed his position was by choice; he wanted to stick close to his roots. A Beauregard's first priorities always had been family and neighbors. Truthfully though, he was just addicted to how he had the run of the place. 

Dominic's outburst halted Byron for just a moment. A confused look, a blink, and Byron kept right on talking. 

"—But ice cream would be like heaven, ya know, with our heat. Should ah ask him? Ah'd sure love ta sit back and have a cone with Caitie. Now she could put back a few, that li'l one!"

Crack!

A fist caught him square in the mouth.

Byron rubbed his jaw, coughed, then spit out a loosened tooth. Tears started down his cheeks when he picked the tooth up out of his lap. Drool, tinged with blood, dripped from the violently removed treasure as Byron held it forlornly.

"Did ya have ta do that?" Byron asked with a quavering voice. "Ah don't got many left. Ah'm trying real hard ta make 'em last."

Gyrich threw up his arms and marched for the exit. "That's it, I'm leaving." He stopped, facing off to Dominic. "This is ridiculous. The old man has completely lost it, Dominic. He didn't tell them anything 'cause he doesn't know anything. He's talking riddles about my dead daughter and kitchenware for crissake! Doesn't any of this strike you as pointless?"

Byron looked straight at Gyrich and said, "Now Ah'm regretting saving a pumpkin fer ya every Halloween, Henry Peter. Yer don't deserve it. Talking 'bout yer li'l girl like that. Ya oughta be ashamed o' yerself."

Dominic shook with fury. He had to get the old coot to shut up before Gyrich caught onto the truth mixed into all the gibberish. A frantic shuffle of feet got him to Byron's side. He raised his own cane—an item he used to help him emulate his great uncle, the former preacher—intending to whack Byron hard enough to finally shut him up once and for all.

"Stop it!" Gyrich yelled as he raced up and shoved the cane before it could impact Byron. "Why are you bothering? He isn't a threat!"

"Soft," Dominic muttered angrily and he set his cane to rights and rested his bulbous weight on it. From the lengthy talks with his uncle, he knew exactly what buttons to push to manipulate Gyrich. He didn't have his famous uncle's magic touch with words, but he'd make do. Continuing, Dominic said, "Things would've turned out so much better if Lily had been married off to someone else."

"Well, it's too late now, isn't it?" Henry Peter Gyrich took out his handkerchief and tossed it into Byron's lap. He'd just about had enough with all the crap the Beauregard's had put him through. He was so sick and tired of how much they used his lingering attachment to his dead wife against him he almost wished he had never met her. 

__

I still wouldn't have her or Caitlyn, but at least Lily might still be alive... And maybe this guy would have some sane thoughts left...

Gyrich didn't have very many good intentions left, but there was at least one he held onto with great fervor. It was caught up in that attachment to Lily and Caitlyn. 

"He's human, Dominic," Gyrich said. "He's your family. Treat him with at least some dignity and respect."

"Ha ha ha ha ha ha." 

Dominic shook so much from laughing, Gyrich thought he looked like a demented, devilish Santa Claus. 

"Ain't this all the kicker, Gyrich?" Dominic continued. "Look at you sticking up for the loon. Why? Because he's my uncle? Because he's Marshall's brother? Because he's human? The things you don't know, the things you never wanted to know..." Grave, almost repenting, he added, "You didn't deserve our Lily. Never did. No wonder she ran off, six months pregnant. Simple as she was, she still caught on to your weakness. And Caitlyn? Oh, don't even get me started on that one... ha ha ha..."

Gyrich stomped the ground, stirring up a small cloud of dirt. That last statement of Dominic's was their hold on him. When the Beauregard's had re-entered his life a few years back, it was words like those, little stabs and hints about Caitlyn that kept Gyrich hooked. They had him dangling on an adamantium-wire tether and it made him boiling mad.

While Dominic was prattling on and Gyrich was throwing a conniption, Byron had wrapped up his tooth in Gyrich's handkerchief. He was tucking it safely inside an interior pocket when Marshall started up on Caitlyn. 

Byron jumped up, toppling himself and Dominic to the ground. "Leave Caitie alone, ya damned bastard!" 

Byron was having a poorly timed moment of clarity. His thoughts were sound, even as the thugs dragged him off of Dominic and pounded on him. All along, Byron kept on screaming.

"Ya ain't nothing but a cheat and a liar! That church burnin' down was the best thing to evah happen ta her. Got her outta here, it did—"

BAM!

"Ah saw myself a picture of her. Her beau showed it ta me—"

BAM!

"She growed up pretty and strong and smart. She was luckier than Lily. She was—"

Silence.

A whistle. 

Wind?

The rusty lock on the wide barn doors snapped off, cutting the air and clipping the shoulder of one of the burly thugs that had been beating on Byron, as the doors were forced open. 

The X-Men X-Treme team had arrived.

****

~~~~~~~~~~~

"You told me last night you were a sun, now, with your very own..." (Doughnut Song –by Tori Amos)

The metal slab was nothing more than a muted sensation beneath her. The fact that she could feel it was almost a consolation. The nausea wasn't calming, the dark room was still swirling—not spinning, since that would connote that the room wasn't imitating Edvard Munch's painting, _The Scream_—and her body hadn't yet reconnected to her mind. All in all, it felt like she'd been flipped inside out and back again... and was still waiting to return to her senses.

__

What did he do to meh? 

She sat up, swung her legs over the edge of the slab, but didn't feel the motions more than the continued nausea and swirling. The deadened sensation of her toes contacting the black and white tiled floor was something though, right? Reveling in that, all that she had, she asked him, "What did ya do to me Essex?"

Her vomit splattered the tiles. She hadn't even felt her stomach lurch.

"I've merely designated all of the Core's persona's, Rogue," Sinister answered. "Just like I explained I would."

"Just like that? Ya opened it all up in one fell swoop?"

"No. I've just identified them. There's a few more steps before that."

She pushed off the slab and tried to stand. It worked... sort of...

"Then why do Ah feel like—"

"Like you are in your own mind and body, but separate from it?" 

Rogue looked down at her feet on the floor, to the side of her expunged stomach contents, then to where her hands gripped the slab. She'd vomited so abruptly, and with her senses working the way they were, it was almost like it wasn't her that had vomited. Other than that, her feet were unwavering, her knees not trembling, but she couldn't feel them. They didn't feel numb. They felt amputated, not there. Her fingers were white knuckled on the slab, but even they felt detached. No matter how tight she squeezed the slab, it was nothing more than a faint blah-ness. It was worse than feeling the world through gloves.

She asked, "Yeah, that?" 

"Dissociation. I needed direct links to each of them to pull them free one by one. To do so otherwise would be a breach of our contract. I do believe the shock of it would kill you."

"Ya call this stickin' within my parameters?" 

She bore her sight through the glass where she saw him bent over staring at his readouts as though she could will him to look at her.

He did.

"Please try not to move around too much," he said, the previous subject closed and final, according to him. "You could tear your stitches."

"My what?" 

Too late, his attention was back on the readouts.

She looked down the front of her body. This time, she noticed the unbuttoned lower half of her blouse. Biting her lower lip with grim resolve, she lifted the blouse and looked. There, dipping down under the loose waistband of her jeans was a row of stitches. She gently unzipped her pants and peeled them open to see the stitches arc at its lowest point to curve back up. The other end of the stitches stopped about an inch below the waistband. It was almost a perfect half circle and she felt every bit of it with the tips of her fingers.

She wasn't sure which bothered her more, that he had performed a surgical operation of an unknown sort on her or that she couldn't feel the stitches any more than she could feel the tiles under her feet and the slab under her palms and back.

She closed up her clothing. She still felt exposed though, when she was done, since she couldn't feel the clothes. But sight told her she was covered up, and sight was all she had at the moment, even swirling as it was. So, it was by relying solely on her sight that she clutched her way through the room to the door in the lead and glass wall to confront Sinister in what she deemed a breach of their agreement: cutting into her and not divulging it first. She watched each footfall, each touch for support... growing more and more weary and more disturbed and more scared with each one.

She reached the door separating the two rooms. She opened the door. Before she laid eyes on Sinister in there, she heard him... them.

__

Guess the speaker system has a filter on it, she thought wryly.

"This ztztztztzt calls thirty-two today ztztztztzt operation trickery only way ztztztztzt kill you maybe Union It free ztztztztzt joining marriage IT control possibilities ztztztztzt mutants Union IT catches possibilities ztztztztzt no, everyone...."

All of them... the free ones... all at once. 

**__**

Chickory Static Tart Sad Static Giggle Haunting Edgy Static Everywhere Bitter Taunting Static Nowhere Static.

Speakers. Microphone. Monitors. 

**__**

Static Haunting Everywhere Chickory Static Tart Giggle Edgy Static Sad Taunting Bitter Static Nowhere Static.

Sinister was talking to... them.

**__**

Nowhere Static Giggle Bitter Sad Static Haunting Edgy Static Chickory Tart Static Taunting Static Everywhere.

The static, she somehow realized, was those still trapped inside the Core.

**__**

GiggleTauntingSadStaticGiggleTartNowhereGiggleStaticHauntingGiggleEdgyStaticChicko ryGiggleBitterStaticGiggleStaticEverywhereGiggleEverywhereGiggleEverywhereGiggleEv erywhereGiggleEverywhereGiggle.

White knuckled on the door's frame, though she couldn't feel it. Vomit on the floor, again, though she hadn't felt it.

"Rogue, I would advise that you return to the bed," Sinister said without looking up from his monitors.

"What did ya do?" _DidAah ask him or did Ah just think Ah asked him? Better ask again, just in case._ "What did ya do to me?"

"Another one is about to—" 

White washed over her. The world was ending. And then she blinked, and she could see it was hell she was in again.

A momentary stray thought—_Who's Orpheus? Eurydice?_ [3]

"Ztztztzthello?" Sunshine and chimes. "Wow, why's it so.... blah in here? It was so bright before."

There was an odd echo effect for Rogue. She heard the voice through the speakers and within her mind. It was like a strangely set up surround sound system, actually.

"It's temporary, sugah," Impostor Eleven's voice said to Sunshine-and-chimes, sounding through the speakers. "Everything will be bright again soon."

Rogue was regaining feeling. Her senses were returning. She was balancing. Yet, the strange echo came with Impostor Eleven's voice as well. She could hear them both inside and out. Doubly odd, since Impostor Eleven's shimmering voice sounded everywhere and nowhere all at once within Rogue's mindscape.

"Oh Gawd, the wave!" Sunshine and chimes. "Ah'm dead, aren't Ah? Gambit too. We're—"

"Hush, hush," Soothed Impostor Eleven lovingly. "It's nothin' like that. Remembeh, Sugah, ya know ya aren't dead. Ya've just been—"

"Released."

"Everyone, meet Twenty-two," Impostor Eleven announced proudly. 

"Ahhhh, their first kiss," Sinister said neutrally.

"That's what that feeling was," Rogue said, making it a question. "Ya forced it out? That's what Union is, isn't it?"

Sunshine and chimes. "Only half of it, Sugar." Twenty-two.

"You really should return to the table, Rogue," Sinister said. "You may feel better now, but it's not over yet."

A wave of nausea hit her right on cue. Her knees gave out. She grabbed the ledge of Sinister's workbench to keep her from smacking to the tiled floor. Sinister helped her up and guided her to the table in the other room. She couldn't fight him. She felt like shit. She needed to lie down. She could feel the web strands reaching throughout her, taut and quivering, like a plucked guitar string, like a fly had been snagged in the web and the spider was making it's way to him to devour him.

But who was the spider, who was the fly, what was the web really? Who was Orpheus, who was Eurydice, Hades, Persephone, Hermes, the Furies, the Maenads? 

Who was she?

And then Magneto was led in, bound and collared, strapped onto the second table in the former hospital nursery. That's where they were, she realized with a jolt. She knew this was an abandoned hospital, but the exact rooms Sinister had set up the procedures in hadn't crossed her mind. She didn't care at the time. She was too caught up double checking the wisdom of her demands, making sure he complied with them, asking him what he was doing... and he'd left out some parts. 

__

How fitting, a nursery. Guess Ah am giving birth, in a way... but why's Magneto here?

"Why's he here?" Rogue's question was barely audible, barely shushed out.

"I told you, Rogue," Sinister explained as he connected wires between them.

Rogue avoided the pained and angry expression that Magneto regarded her with. She tried to ignore that for the moment. He'd looked at her like that before. What was new to her was his disheveled, stupor he seemed to be in. He looked intoxicated. Not fully, but enough that he would be more malleable for whatever Sinister had in mind for him.

"The key is in the duplication. One inside you, one outside you. You retained nothing of me. Magnus here, is within you, however."

"But ya cut me open... ya didn't..." She trailed off. The dizziness was swallowing. She could feel her insides trying to become her outsides.

"I explained all about the nannites," Sinister said as he continued taping wires to her and Magneto, and double-checking all of the sensors as he went. "They do for me much what Xavier's telepathy would have done for him in conjunction with Cerebro."

"Eggs... Egg... zay..." She gave up saying the Professor's name. It was just too difficult to pronounce. She went for something easier. "Suh... Sah... ree.." Her tongue was an oversized mass of dry sponge. She couldn't make it work like it was supposed to.

"Cerebro, yes," Sinister said. He figured out what she was getting at. "Haven't you ever wondered why Xavier never really did anything to try and help you? I procured all this equipment by way of an alias of mine with connections to the administration that worked with Operation: Zero Tolerance. It came from the X-Men's Westchester base, Rogue. It's Cerebro, modified to work by way of my nannites in place of telepathy. Some of those inside the Core were near to escaping already with Impostor Eleven's help and your own biology and emotional circumstances as of late. Others are more stubborn. So, as I explained before we started, I need assistance, something inside and outside of you at once. Magneto fills that role."

Sinister, satisfied that everything was properly ready, headed back to his observation room to check things on that end and make adjustments. Through the speaker system, he said, "All those people at the mansion you'd absorbed at some time or another, yet, never once did Xavier search for a link still existing between them and you. Then again, maybe he did know, and chose not to pursue it. After all, I refined my theories of you after the information this equipment granted me."

An electrical buzz.

Inside-out.

A thousand plucked strings.

Sensory loss.

A purplish pink glow around Magneto. His back arched. His mouth opened in a scream she couldn't hear.

A matching glow around her. She felt nothing. She was dimming. 

A last thought before blackness—_Magneto._

That was the point she'd overlooked.

Magneto was in Sinister's clutches, and the X-Men were likely planning a search and rescue under Xavier's insistence.

She'd forgotten that when making her careful list of demands. 

She hoped they wouldn't arrive before she escaped. Sinister's one stipulation was that she did not lead the X-Men to him. 

Would he hold it a breach of their agreement if the X-Men showed up for reasons other than her? Would he believe she hadn't led them there? Had he figured on that all along? What would it mean, if he considered it a breach?

Blackout.

****

~~~~~~~~~~~

"Devoted satellite. Happy for you, and I am sure that I hate you. Two sons too many, too many able fires." (Doughnut Song –by Tori Amos)

Moses parting the sea—that was what it looked like. Loose dirt in an updraft rising from the ground and curling at the peaks high above their heads. The phenomenon spanned the interior of the barn from splintered doors to back wall. The guards by the door and settled back from the main attraction—the interrogation of Byron, center stage—were thrown back into the old wood walls with the wind play. One guard, Dominic, Gyrich, and Byron were all that remained untouched by the winds.

"Release him, now," Storm demanded as she led the other members of her team along the path her rises of wind and dirt had formed. 

Bobby didn't wait for them to comply. An ice slide took him straight to Byron. He iced Byron over, unsure of his injuries and thinking it best not to jar any possible broken bones or internal trauma, then propelled them both back out the way he'd come in. He didn't see any more of what happened inside the barn. He knew they'd fill him in afterwards. His objective was the removal and tending to of Byron; a job he volunteered for eagerly.

Storm noticed the relief that washed over Gyrich at seeing Byron removed to safety. Then it occurred to her—

"Gyrich?"

"We aren't afraid of yer parlor tricks," Dominic said. His family arrogance reappeared. "Yer in over yer heads." 

Dominic's goon reached around his back.

A card danced with light, poised between two fingers before Gambit even spoke, "I wouldn't advise that."

Storm gestured to Bishop and asked, "Bring them in here. I want to get to the bottom of this." A nod to Neal and Sage, then, "Their weapons."

"What's going on?" Henry asked as Neal and Sage retrieved weapons from the guard. Henry looked the X-Men over in disgust. Venom-laced, he said, "What are you... mutants doing here?"

"These folks said they'd rescue Byron," ornery Joe said as he entered with Bishop and Aaron. "What are _you_ doing here, Henry? We hadn't expected ta see ya 'round these parts since—well, evah again, rightly." 

Sage searched Dominic for weapons and found a shiny hunting knife in a snakeskin case and an Ivory handled, customized Derringer styled gun. The Derringer was comical to Sage, considering Dominic's girth.

"You'd think that wouldn't you," Gyrich said wryly, giving a sidelong glance to Dominic. "My only attachments to this godforsaken place died a long time ago."

"If ya feel that way," Aaron spat, "then Ah really don't know why ya did come back."

Neal was trying to search Gyrich, but Gyrich's near thrashing around in his anger was making it impossible.

"How else should I feel? They're dead!"

Neal had the light bulb idea. "But, Joe, didn't you say that Cait—"

"Ha ha ha ha ha." It was Dominic again. It was more menacing this time, though. "Boy, you best be staying out of our business if you know what's good for you."

Bishop raised his plasma gun to him. "I think you should remember who's in control right now."

"If this don't beat all," Dominic said as he quirked a brow at Gyrich. "You and your boys gonna let this here bunch of muties talk to us like this."

Nobody caught the flicker of Dominic's gaze pausing ever so slightly in the distance beyond the rising walls of dirt and dust like Moses' parted sea when he shifted looking at Gyrich to Bishop.

"You're not as good as Marshall is, Dominic," Gyrich said. "Not even close. You two have been laying hints on me thick about her. Strangling me along for long enough." Gyrich gently grabbed Neal's arm. Earnestly, he asked, "Do you know something about Caitlyn?"

Neal, unsure, looked from Storm, to Joe and Aaron, to Gyrich, and back to Storm, who nodded. Back to Gyrich, Neal said, "Joe and Aaron said that Caitlyn is our missing teammate."

Gyrich deflated.

"What?" Neal asked him, more confused than ever.

"Nothing," Gyrich said. "Just, I was hoping... But you're not talking about the same person."

"But they said—"

"Don't you know when to quit, boy?" Dominic again.

Bishop shoved Dominic back with the plasma gun. Nothing too serious, just a jolt to his shoulder. 

"Stop interrupting," Bishop told him.

"All this over my cousin," Dominic said with a chuckle, "Who'd have guessed it? That little bitch isn't worth all of this shit."

Gambit tossed the card to Dominic's feet. The minuscule explosion made Dominic jump back in terror. It was comical to see, but Gambit wasn't laughing.

Dominic regained his composure and said, "Can't say I didn't try." Then, as if resigning himself to his fate, he hefted his girth into the chair Byron was formerly occupying. He dipped his hand into an inside breast pocket—

"Don't," Bishop said.

"It's just chapstick, Bishop," Sage said. She had been the one to search him. 

Dominic smeared on the lip balm, then reached into another pocket.

"Lotion," Sage preemptively told Bishop.

Dominic rubbed the lotion into his hands. He felt powerful in that moment. All conversation had ceased. All attention was on him, as if waiting on him. He knew more than the rest of them combined. He was feeling powerful indeed. Still, it wouldn't be enough...

A chuckle bubbled up out of him. His greasy blubber shook with his mirth at the situation. "Marshall's gonna be pissed." He shook harder. It was creepy.

Blam! Blam! Blam!

Storm's walls of updraft wind, dirt, and dust, collapsed. Gyrich's guards had guns.

"And if I'm wasting all your time this time, I think you never learned to take. And if I'm hanging onto your shade, I guess I'm way beyond the pale." (Doughnut Song –by Tori Amos)

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

FOOTNOTES:

[1] Chicanery—(1) The use of sly or evasive language, reasoning, etc. To trick or deceive. (2) A tricky or decietful maneuver; subterfuge.

[2] Okay, I don't remember if Scott and Alex's powers effecting Sinister was from the comics or the original animated series, or both. I'm including it, regardless. 

[3] The Greek Tragedy of Orpheus and Eurydice. It was referenced last chapter. The full tragedy is noted last chapter as well.


	16. Chapter 16 InDependence

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Seether

Chapter Sixteen -- In_dependence_

By Randirogue

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Blackout.

__

"Don't be afraid, Rogue," Emma's ghost said. 

She was behind her, it sounded, but when Rogue spun to find her all she saw was blackness. Her mindscape was cold and empty. Space, but without the stars and planets and suns.

__

"Aw, screw it," Emma's ghost continued. _"Be scared all you want. Not like it matters either way. You either do it or you get swallowed up. Fear won't make a difference."_

__

"Do what?" Rogue asked. _Did Ah ask that? Ah didn't hear it._

__

"Shut up and listen. If you let yourself get caught up in all that, he'll have all the control."

"Sinister?"

Emma's ghost rolled her eyes, then realized Rogue couldn't see it, so she said, _"Yes."_

"But Ah want control."

"Duh! And you'll have it, eventually... I think. But first, much as I hate it, you're going to have to give in first. For a bit."

"Give in?"

"To Her."

"Ah don't trust her. Ah don't even trust ya."

Emma's ghost shrugged. Rogue had a point. But, so did she.

__

"Then why'd you let me in, before, with Jean?" 

"Ah was pretty desperate at the time. All in all, Ah didn't have much choice in it."

"Well, look around, Rogue. It doesn't get much more desperate than this. You have a choice though."

"What choice?"

"Fight it, like you are, being stubborn and locking yourself up tight in there, or... You can open up, follow Impostor Eleven's lead."

"But she's with Sinister, Emma."

"She's with herself, Rogue. She'd rather use you than him. She needs you. She is trapped inside you. She can't control you by herself. Not enough of her out, if you hadn't noticed. That's why she doesn't have a form, just a voice and some sparkly smoke. But she knows the most about all this. She's the only one with any real control in here." Emma's ghost's voice was tapering off, losing volume, gaining distance._ "Take too long to decide and you'll lose the choice, Rogue."_

"Wait! How do Ah do it? Ah don't know where she is? And why can't ya do it? You're reaching me now."

"IT."

"Don't go, Emma. Don't leave me alone in here!"

She just placed a companion's hand into Rogue's hand.

Magneto screamed. His voice was growing hoarse. Adrenaline was ripping through the drugs Sinister had given him and he was feeling the pain. A tug at his chest, pulling him inside out, and Rogue could feel all of it. She was inside him. She was causing it. Sinister had set it in motion, but it was her that was doing it. She knew that then. She wasn't even touching him, but she was doing it. It seemed so obvious to her right then she didn't know how she overlooked it before.

__

Wait—inside him? How can Ah be inside him? My powers don't work that way. Ah'm not a telepath. Ah've absorbed some though. Maybe that's what it is.

The web strands stretched, yawning through her, through him, coiling tighter, slicing, searing like acid burning, burning, burning. She was dying cause he was dying. But it didn't work that way. Or did it? She didn't know. She didn't trust. She didn't understand.

__

Stop fighting it. Stop questioning it. Stop denying it. Let it happen. Let it happen. Let it happen.

She squeezed his hand. 

__

Ah won't let ya die, Erik. Not 'til I get a piece of your hide first.

And so, she chose.

****

~~~~~~~~~~~

"...And now I speak to you. Are you in there? You have her face and her eyes but you are not her. And we go at each other like blank ettes who can't find their thread and their bare..." (Bells For Her –by Tori Amos)

Lily didn't bother closing her eyes. What was the point? She saw it whether her eyes were open or not and what she saw was starting to become routine.

She saw not his pleasure twisted face beading sweat above her. She saw not the smooth and tanned flesh carved over toned and slightly bulging muscles in his shoulders and arms, the cords of those muscles flexing and relaxing with every light press of his bent elbows. She saw not the clench of stomach, back, thighs, and other things as he rose and fell in quick thrusts like the bars connecting the wheels on the train that went chug, chug, chug by her house and her father's church. She'd spent long summer days watching those bars on those wheels. It wasn't the spinning of the wheels that always caught her attention. It was the bars linking them that captured her sight. She saw them thrust forward, crank up and around and down, just to thrust forward again. It was choppy and smooth all at once. It was wrong and right. It was propelling and dragging, and she was propelled and dragged by them whenever she saw them. She was compelled to follow them. She ran along side the tracks, running through the field, and running from her house to her father's church. But she could never run further. She never saw further. The train crossed the Mississippi River there and her view of the train's cranking wheel bars was blocked by the curve of the tracks, the trees on the other side, and Lily's father's hitching breath in her ear. Lily didn't try to see further. She just accepted that what was, was. So, in that moment, under the weight of the forward thrust, crank up and around and down and forward thrust again, Lily didn't see what was above her, what was holding her down and keeping her obedient.

Instead, Lily saw through her father's eyes. She saw herself removed. 

Lily was fourteen. She was in her childhood bedroom in a grand colonial style house on the banks of the Mississippi River. She was surrounded by darkness caged within four walls papered in lavender with ivory trumpet lilies. She was lying on a down comforter and down pillows. Porcelain dolls watched her from their out-of-reach places on the shelves wrapping all four walls. They were as detached as she was, detached and unresponsive, just watching, watching, down at her. 

She saw through her daddy's eyes. 

Her daddy's sweat dripped from his brow to hers. It rolled over her eyebrow, down her eyelid, and into her eyes. She blinked, collecting the drop betwixt her eyelashes, and when her eyes opened she saw the same as she saw while her eyes were closed. She saw her daddy's sweat roll down her own cheek.

She saw herself removed.

"...Hey would you say, whatever, we're blanket friends. Can't stop what's coming. Can't stop what is on its way..." (Bells For Her –by Tori Amos)

****

~~~~~~~~~~~

"...And through the walls they made their mud pies. I've got your mind, I said, she said, I've got your voice, I said, you don't need my voice girl you have your own, but you never thought it was enough of... So, they went years and years like sisters, blanket girls, always there through that and this. There's nothing we cannot ever fix, I said..." (Bells For Her –by Tori Amos)

Irene had visions and Rogue touched Irene and Rogue now has visions and Rogue now has Irene's memories and Rogue even has memories of Irene's visions. Rogue's mind is a metropolis all of its own, though. It's densely populated and she avoids it as she avoids her powers that created the population's possibility. Sometimes she craves the touch, craves the thievery, and craves the vampiric rush of memories of intimacies she could never have without the thievery and the vampiric rush itself. She craved what she couldn't have and she hated it and avoided it and thus the population in her mind was as neglected as the use of those powers that created the population. Her neglect was evident in the vast and complicated weavings of webs all throughout her mindscape and beyond. She could reach further than she knew, but she never dared tread. It was temptation, and temptation must be overcome. She'd heard that somewhere before. But, like Irene's visions and Irene's memories and Rogue's visions and Rogue's collection of Irene's memories of Irene's visions, Rogue was confused as to who the thoughts originated from. 

__

Were they mine? Were they Irene's? Were they Lily's? Were they Corrin's? Were they Mystique's? Were they Gambit's? Were they... oh what was his name again? 

Rogue didn't know those answers. She was used to it, even if she didn't like it, even if she was determined to sort it out... even if she avoided ever actually doing it. Who had time to clean the attic when there were diaries to find? When Magneto was in Sinister's bonds? When she was in Sinister's bonds? When she had to finish watching this vision of the future or the past? Or was it a memory of one of Irene's past visions? Rogue didn't know, but she watched it play out all the same. Eyes open or closed she saw it all the same.

In the vision, Rogue watched from the stairs. She was peaking between the spokes of the banister, from about half way up the stairs. It was right where the wall ended, so she had to crane her neck to get a glimpse of Irene's back as she sipped tea and the flicker of Mystique's shadow as she paced in front of Irene. 

There was something familiar about the vision. It was close to a true memory of Rogue's. Only, this wasn't how she remembered the conversation went. 

"Usually the nearer the occurrence, the more accurate the vision, Raven," Irene said in between sips. "Usually."

Mystique's shadow flickered again as she turned and paced back the other way. Rogue pulled back, rolling her head around to stretch her neck. In doing so, she caught a glimmer of a reflection in the foyer mirror. The reflection was almost a perfect framing for seeing Mystique and Irene as they conversed. Rogue changed her position, getting more comfortable on the stairs as she opted to watch them in the reflection instead of craning her neck around the corner to see into the drawing room.

"What is so different about this one, Irene?" Mystique said, accusing. "Can you at least tell me that much?"

Irene set down her tea on the lace coverlet on the table beside her. The movement was delicate. Irene was a precognitive mutant. Irene was blind. Irene was a terrorist. Yet, she was always graceful and delicate. Not much of her demeanor had rubbed off onto Rogue.

"All of the visions suggested the outcome we had favored up until this morning," Irene said, explaining carefully. "Now, they all show up murky. Rogue will be the victor, I know that much. That part hasn't changed, but now I can't see the final moments at all--"

"Taking out Carol is all that matters, Irene," Mystique said, cutting Irene off. "What happens afterward is not important. We will deal with later when later comes. Besides, isn't that what your books are for? Aren't they what all of this is for?"

"Is it, Raven? Is it really the books that we are working for? Or is it about our charg—"

"Fine." Mystique stopped pacing. She crossed her arms over her chest in defiance and pointedly met Irene's gaze. "Then tell me what you think we should do."

"It doesn't work that way, and you know it." Irene was becoming exasperated now. "I see several lines in the future. I do not know which will occur if I cannot determine the pivotal moment for them. That moment is the murky part of the mission. My only advice is to not attempt this mission."

"Fine, we'll postpone it. We'll come back after we retrieve Fred and St. John from the federal prison." Mystique was pacing again, but she stopped short. "No, wait. We can't do it then. We have to go to Washington for the Valerie Cooper thing afterwards." The pacing began again. "But after that we're clear for over a month. I wanted to use that time to track down the plans for that project Forge is working on—"

"The negation weapon, yes, I remember."

"Right, that. But, our intel says that we can wait a little longer on that, so, you will check the possible outcomes of the Danvers mission after we infiltrate Cooper."

Irene was quiet for a while. Five minutes maybe. Mystique watched her, growing impatient with her silence, but knowing that Irene was searching the future lines for the possible outcomes of skipping the Carol mission and continuing with all the others. When Mystique's patience was wearing out, Irene finally raised her head up to look at Mystique. Rogue still couldn't see Irene's face from her location. The reflection showed Irene's back and Mystique's front. But, Mystique's expression in reaction to the look on Irene's face was enough. Shock and denial.

"No!" Mystique yelled. 

"I tried my best, Raven... there's just no way of keeping her. She's not yours. She's not meant to be yours... ours."

Crash!

Rogue flinched. Even though she watched Mystique pick up the lamp and throw it, Rogue still flinched when it crashed into the wall, shattering into a hundred pieces. Mystique was definitely the bigger influence on Rogue's own behavioral patterns.

"I won't accept this!" Mystique roared. "You said this would work. You said it would work!"

Irene stood and tugged Mystique into the comfort of her arms. "I'm sorry, Raven. I'm sorry," Irene murmured to her, stroking her back tenderly. "It no longer matters what we do, she will leave us."

"Mein geschtutzt..." Mystique whispered longingly to Irene. 

"Yes, your protégé... our protégé. But she is not our daughter. And we cannot make her so... no matter how much we wish it."

Mystique pulled out of Irene's hold, but held onto Irene's hands. The hardened woman found balance in the more delicate woman.

"It wasn't supposed to be this way, Irene. When we set out to do this, to use the books to make..." She trailed off, her eyes revealing her visit to the memory of the moment she spoke of. 

"I know," Irene said, bringing Mystique back to the present.

"We were just supposed to train her and prepare her and make sure that it turned out as we wanted. We weren't supposed to..." She trailed off again. This time it wasn't memory that swallowed her words. This time it was her own stubborn refusal to accept what she deemed a weakness. 

"We weren't supposed to love her as our own," Irene supplied for Mystique, who didn't acknowledge agreement in her hardness. But she also made no attempt to refute it. Irene, knowing that was as much of an admittance as she would get from Mystique, continued, "We were fools, Raven. We were fools. We looked only at what she would become when we started this. Despite our efforts otherwise, the child wormed her way into our hearts. And now we must lose her. If we want to accomplish this, we have to let her go. It is the only way." 

Rogue couldn't see either very well now since they were so close. Irene was blocking Mystique's reflection and the lamp Mystique had broken had been the primary light source. But there was a slight shift of their persons that alerted Rogue to a change in Mystique. Rogue had been trained well to read such things in a person, even if from a distance, seen in low light and in a reflection.

Irene was hesitant when she questioned Mystique. "You still want to do this, right? Or... or have you changed your mind?" A long pause. There was no physical movement, but Rogue sensed the trepidation on Irene even before she heard the evidence of it in Irene's following words. "Raven, we cannot be selfish now. There is more at stake than just her or us."

"The world will not end if we do not follow through with this." Mystique spat the words. Mystique's tone assaulted Rogue with the flavor of chewed aspirin in her mouth. "Mutant kind will not be destroyed because of it." Mystique yanked away from Irene's hands. She was showing her independence, her spine of steel, and in the process, revealing her tender insides. 

"You're right, Raven. The world will not end because of her. Not one person is that important. Neither of us are, and she is not as well." Irene rested a hand on Mystique's shoulder. It still amazed Rogue how Irene knew exactly where to reach. "But, it will be bad. It will be very bad for a lot of people." Mystique, independent, defiant, and denying, shrugged off Irene's hand. "We will end up in camps. The brotherhood will mostly die, and those that do not will become hounds. Rogue will become the queen hou—"

"Could!" Mystique snapped as she spun on Irene. "Could, Irene, not will. The hounds COULD be created. The camps COULD become a reality. Could, Irene, not will. At least this way, we know we will have some semblance of a life before that COULD happen."

"Is that what you really want? Do you just want to give all of this up and play house?" Mystique didn't answer. That was too close to outright admitting that she was not solely a hardened terrorist... too close to admitting that she loved Irene and that she loved Rogue. Irene didn't expect Mystique to answer so she just continued. "Right here, in our grasp, is the chance to stop that from happening. Will you trade all of that suffering for your petty whims?"

"Petty?!"

"Fine... not petty. But it is selfish. And don't deny that. Because it will be your selfishness that keeps her from—"

"From Xavier. That's all it will do. Will his guidance honestly be the determining factor to what she becomes? How can one man be that important? If we're not important enough, if she's not that important enough to save the world, how can his sole influence be important enough to stop Gyrich and his machine and those damned hounds?"

"It's not just him, Raven, and you know it. It's all of them. It's Eric. It's the scoundrel. It's Kurt. It's Piotr. It's the time traveler. It's the computer woman. It's so much more."

"It's all so aleatory, Irene, wild and untamed. Even if we cancel her attack on Carol, even if we let her go to Xavier, even if all of those people interact with her, how can we make sure that it goes just the right way? There are just so many gambles, so many chance moments we have to trust will occur while she's gone from us. Why can't she complete her training with us? What's really to stop us from making sure she's ready instead of depending on all of them to play their appropriate roles?"

"My visions say so."

A vicious gleam lights Mystique's yellow, cat like eyes. "And that's the twist, isn't it, Irene? On one hand you say that your visions aren't perfectly accurate. You say that there are many possibilities and you pinpoint the one that stands as the most likely based on all other visions between now and then. Yet, you insist that our failure resides in keeping Xavier from having my daughter—"

"Your protégé, Raven, not your daughter." Mystique couldn't have looked more shocked if Irene had slapped her. "And I'm not saying that we have to let him have her," Irene continued. She sat down, weariness settling into her being. "I'm saying quite the opposite, actually." That part was a whisper. Mystique knelt down before her so she could hear her. "I'm saying that we can't let Rogue attack Carol tonight because she will win, but something will go wrong, and because of that Rogue will leave us. Less than a year, Raven. That's all we have left if she does this."

"I refuse to accept this, Irene. I will not give up on this so easily."

"It doesn't matter, Raven. Everything unravels if she does this. It will be that much harder for all of us."

"But what if I go with her, what if—" Mystique just stopped talking. Rogue didn't know why. She figured it was because of Irene's expression, but she can't see Irene's expression. Rogue peaked around the corner, craning her head like she had before she discovered the reflection of them in the foyer mirror. Looking she saw that the scene had changed. It was the same night, but not the same moment. Now, it was a little while later. It was now the scene that she remembered inciting her at the merciless age of sixteen.

Strangely, Mystique and Irene had switched positions. Mystique was now in the chair and Irene was standing before her. Cold prickled through her as a ghostly sixteen-year-old Rogue came down the stairs and sat right where the vision-Rogue sat. The sensation reminded Rogue of Kitty phasing and sharing the same seat while remaining phased. 

"I hate Carol!" Mystique said, calling the attention of both Rogues. Rogue shifted herself, turned her head side to side, sensing the ghostly echo of the sixteen-year-old Rogue's movements through her. "She is always getting in my way," Mystique continued, "I should've killed her years ago. Then we wouldn't be in this predicament now!"

"It does us no good to think in terms of the past, Raven. We cannot change that. But the future is still ours to live. You cannot let your hatred control your choices. You must look at the bigger picture. Rogue's attempt on Carol will end in disaster. That much I am certain of."

The sixteen-year-old Rogue got up and stormed up to her room in anger. Rogue didn't need to follow her to know what happened next. Rogue had lived that moment. Rogue, as much as she didn't want to—as much as she would have liked to have locked the following moment inside the Core along with all the others that had been swallowed up there—remembered her rebellious act of going out after Carol on her own. She remembered attacking Carol on that bridge in San Francisco. She remembered the strange prolonging of skin to skin contact. She remembered Carol's body growing limp as though dead, and not just unconscious. She remembered letting Carol fall into the water below as Rogue was assaulted by the inclusion of Carol's mind in a manner that Rogue would only experience again with Z'Cann... and even that wasn't the same. That wasn't as bad. Still, in the vision, Rogue watched it all speed by, watched herself go through all of those things again as though she were watching through someone else's eyes.

Unlike Lily, Rogue could not detach herself from what she saw. She watched her sixteen-year-old self try to remove herself, try to swallow another chunk into her Core, but this time it didn't work. This time the Core rebelled.

The vision transported her inside her own sixteen-year-old self's mind. It was under assault. Sparks of activity, like lightning snapped here and there, sometimes only small like static, other times violent and crisp, stretching gnarled, sharp whips of energy for as far as her eyes could see. She was pulled through this storm and when one of the lightning strikes struck through her, it caught her and carried her along its path. She saw muscles transform, adding strains, thin, elastic and different from her normal muscles. She saw Carol's inhuman strength become hers. She saw how her muscles gained that strength without gaining the bulk of someone like Collossus or Hulk. She saw herself mutate. 

The bolt carried her further, deeper, letting her see all of her adaptability taking on the permanence of Carol's attributes. She was drawn in to see herself on a cellular level and then on a genetic level. She saw a single glowing gene in every strand of DNA. She saw her X-Factor. She watched waves ripple from that glowing gene, changing specified genes in its path. She watched the change duplicate in every DNA strand. She watched the cells change. She watched her muscles change, her skin grow more sinewy and more durable, she watched an airy crystalline freeze wash through her and she somehow knew that's what gave her the ability to resist gravity and fly under her own command. She saw the truth of her own original mutation. It wasn't as simple as Xavier, Hank, Mystique, and she first thought. Her mutation was the epitome of mutation. Her mutation was to be able to mutate in an instant. She was living evolution. 

The bolt ended, and quick as it struck and propelled and dragged her, it snapped her back into her mind to see the changes there. A fog filled the mindscape. Bolts were still striking in the mass of mist, but they were shrinking, dimming, and growing weaker with every strike. She heard a sound of twisting vines, like the sound of an old rope bridge swinging in the wind. The noise whispered beside her—left, right, low left, high right, above, below, and through her. She scrambled back to hug herself back against a meaty wall of her mindscape and strained her eyes to watch the activity that caused the twisting vine noise. 

She didn't have to strain long. A suction sound, like a vacuum without the motor, like a fine tuned tornado proceeded the swirling mist that fought being sucked away. The mist seemed to shimmer in its struggles, the bolts breaking apart into billions and billions of particles as the mist was swirling back. The mist took on more mass, forming tendrils and wisps that reached out in desperate slaps. Rogue chased these tendrils, followed them to the source of the suction, and came to the Core. It was the same place that she, Jean, and Emma had found only days before. Only, this was a young Core, only eight years young. This was the Core, solid and stable, being torn asunder, damaged irreparably from the touch of Carol's skin to Rogue's skin.

The Core was a sphere of sticky twine. It was a spider web purse containing a swarm of rainbow clouds. It was her locked away memories, just as her mother had described to her when—well, she didn't know when she told it to her since she never knew her mother—but she remembered the words being whispered through her being, "_Memories are clouds gathered in a spider web purse._" 

There was a gash in the Core. Strains of the sticky twine whipped from the edges of the gash like wet hair in a hurricane. The suction sound came from that gash. Some of them reached further and further, growing, changing, latching onto the meaty walls of the mist, now more of a swirling, shimmering cloud, which had tangible mass, was being pulled back inside the Core. In its desperation to remain loose from the Core—or perhaps from the changes that were occurring all throughout Rogue because of the absorption of Carol—the mist split in two and each part enveloped one of two feminine beings near the Core. Rogue recognized them immediately. One was a blonde woman in a blue uniform like a high-cut one-piece bathing suit. A yellow lightning bolt streaked down the front of it. A sash was tied around her waist in the same shade of yellow as the lightning bolt. She wore thigh high boots and a Zorro-like mask over her eyes. That being was obviously Carol. The other being was Rogue at sixteen. She had two white shocks sprouting just above her temples to stripe through her dark red-brown hair. She wore a uniform of green pants and green hooded jacket belted at the waist. Green boots donned her slender legs and green gloves protected everyone from her hands. Unlike the Carol being, this Rogue being wasn't fighting to stay out of the Core. This sixteen-year-old Rogue being was trying to climb inside the Core.

A shudder ran through the sticky twine of the Core. The strains themselves were changing, evolving, adapting to the added genetic information that was added with Carol's absorption. The twine itself was gaining a sort of sentience. The part of the shimmering cloud that held Rogue's sixteen-year-old being somehow picked up on the changes in the Core's shielding layers of twine and suddenly dropped the Rogue being. It swirled madly, the action somehow pulling almost all of the shimmering particles out of the other part of the cloud and into itself. It then dove into the twine itself, imbuing itself into the twine, and the twine glowed and shimmered in turn. Those loose, whipping strands that frayed from the gash in the Core glowed and shimmered and took on purposeful movement. They wormed themselves around Carol's limbs and Carol's struggles to keep from being sucked into the Core were now doubled with the help of the cloud-imbued strands. Carol moved further and further away. She made slow progress against the sucking maelstrom.

The sticky twine of the sphere shuddered again as the twine doubled in thickness, fighting off the part of the shimmering cloud that had imbued into part of it. It shuddered once more and some of the frayed strands coiled to stitch and mend the gash. The effect resembled Logan's skin healing itself of a long and deep slice. Then the cloud that enveloped Carol thinned. As the gash sealed over, the last of the cloud, even that part which had imbued itself into the twine, was sucked away entirely. Rogue could've sworn she saw the shape of a vaguely familiar face in the cloud as the last of it disappeared inside the Core.

Rogue wanted to further inspect what had now become of the Core, but the vision fizzled and swam into something else. Though, on her way out, Rogue did see that strands still attached to Carol, and those strands were glowing just the tiniest bit.

****

~~~~~~~~~~~

"Can't stop what's coming can't stop what is on its way. Bells and footfalls and soldiers and dolls, brothers and lovers, she and I were. Now she seems to be sand under his shoes. There's nothing I can do. Can't stop what's coming can't stop what is on its way..." (Bells For Her –by Tori Amos)

The vision deposited Rogue in another memory of hers. This one belonged to Nineteen, and Nineteen hadn't told the story straight when she shared this memory. As much as Rogue knew it was sadistic, she couldn't help watching her nineteen-year old self being touched and fondled and jeered at by a group of male and female Genoshan magistrates. She was again sucked into the mindscape of that Rogue to see Rogue voluntarily hand over control to Carol. The grin that decision spread across Carol's face was menacing and vengeful and grateful. She had found a sort of freedom. In fact, until that moment, Rogue hadn't realized just how much freedom she had gained. As Rogue watched in the vision, she saw that there were indeed two strands attached to Carol as Carol swam to the forefront and gained control of Rogue's body. Detached from Carol, though, were two other strands, lying and writhing like lizard's tails on the bottom surface of the mindscape. Those strands leaked the most minimal amount of shimmering cloud from their glowing tips. They were also crawling their way towards the webbed shielding of Rogue's power basis, the Closet.

****

~~~~~~~~~~~

"...And now I speak to you. Are you in there? You have her face and her eyes but you are not her. And we go at each other like blank ettes who can't find their thread and their bare." (Bells For Her –by Tori Amos)

The vision swam and shifted again. Now there was the Goblin Queen and Magik and X-Factor and Sinister. Rogue, desperate for an edge against their foe, did the thing she had avoided since she joined up with the X-Men: she made flesh to flesh contact with Sinister.

Something went wrong... again. But, it was different than it was with Carol. This time Sinister was the flux, not the permanent mingling of Carol's enhanced DNA blended with Kree DNA. This time, Sinister was the dominant psyche and that dominance threw Rogue's mind and body and powers into chaos.

Again Rogue watched the rampage travel of her own mind. Webs were woven, stretched and reaching. Mists lit up by bolts.

A sweep of Sinister's hand incited the vacuum to pull the mists back into the Core through the breach. Again, the bolts broke into billions and billions of shimmers, and again the mist split, forming two separate tangible masses of shimmering clouds in their desperate struggle for freedom from the Core. And, again, the clouds envelope two beings—this time Sinister and a nearly twenty-year-old Rogue—anchoring to them in order to keep from being pulled back into the Core. But this time there is no evolution and merging of genetic information as there was with the absorption of Carol because Sinister's psyche is dominant over Rogue's mind and body and powers. And because of that, there wasn't any newly strengthening twines of the Core's shielding sphere, so this time the willing Rogue being of nearly twenty years of age went willingly into the Core, taking that part of the bisected cloud with it. Sinister was being pulled into the Core along with the remaining shimmering cloud by the very vacuum his dominance had created. The cloud, in its furious race to escape the Core, remembered the last time with Carol. It remembered making use of the frayed coils. It remembered that part of itself was still imbued in the strands that were attached to Carol and those two strands that had been severed from Carol when Carol took control. It remembered pulling the shimmering energy particles from its other half and the control it had learned when it had imbued itself into the strands. It dared its chances once more.

The sticky twine shuddered.

The cloud tugged harder, forcibly drawing the shimmers into its half against the current of the maelstrom and against the current of its own nature.

The sticky twine shuddered again.

Sinister watched in horror. His dominance was diminishing in comparison to the multiplying shimmers in the cloud that enveloped him.

The sticky twine convulsed, became a constant spasm. 

The cloud imbued its overcharged self into the whole of the webbed shielding. The convulsions became as steady vibration. The patterns in the webbing coiled and grew and stretched under the cloud's control and not Sinister's dominance. The same familiar face as before, though this time with a triumphant smile, could be faintly detected in the pattern of the webbing. Rogue, watching the vision, caught it for an instant, but lost it the moment that the cloud imbued frayed strands from the gash in the Core's shielding reached out and wormed around Sinister's limbs.

Sinister cried out. He felt the power of the shimmers course through him when the strands touched him. It seemed everything about Rogue was grounded in touch.

Sinister grinned. 

He turned a curious glance into the Core itself. He tapped that power flowing from the strands, used it to regain his dominance as he peered through the breach and spotted IT, still undeveloped, still dormant, but already filled with a naive strength greater than any he had ever known. 

Sinister reached inside and touched IT. 

The vision pulled Rogue out of her mindscape to witness the battle. She watched her body stand, stretch and grin with curiosity. It was Sinister's smile. And Sinister's voice, escaping Rogue's lips and tongue, followed it.

"Such power!" Sinister beamed. "Such an enormous strength in this powerful body." The grin widened, ideas running rampant to form plans for later and to gain triumph for the moment. "But you were a fool to think you could contain me, Rogue. And now, I have this power in my control [1]."

The vision didn't let her watch what she knew from memory. It didn't let her watch Sinister, in her own body, defeating several members of the X-Men and X-Factor. The vision brought her back inside her mindscape.

Sinister, inside the mindscape, was as busy as he was in use of Rogue's body to battle her teammates. He was reaching inside the Core, kneading the infantile, undeveloped IT with his surgeon's hands. From that contact he learned everything that the Core knew. He learned what IT was. He learned of the expectations of Union in the possible future. He learned who each of the persona's were that had been trapped inside the Core and why they were trapped there... even the identity of the shimmering cloud. But, most significantly, he learned all of Rogue's first eight years leading up to the very moment that the Core was created. The Core knew all of it and by touching it, he learned it all.

"You are not ready, yet," Sinister said with a sad sigh as removed his hands from the gash in the shielding and then wiped away the shimmering-cloud-imbued strands that had attempted to hold him as though they were nothing more than... well, stray spider webs. 

He stepped back, postulating a plan.

"I will wait, I think, for you to mature," He said, thinking aloud. He hadn't considered that the Core would remember his spoken words. He may have been a maniacal genius, but even Sinister made mistakes. "I will be patient for this Union... but until then..." 

A furrowed brow of concentration and a dramatic wave of his hand and the solid obsidian walls of the mindscape separated and elongated to form obsidian spires. The spires reached forever up and spanned the entire border of the mindscape at regular intervals. Then webbing stretched from the Core to the obsidian outer shields, giving the shielding the elastic and pliable reinforcement of the Core's powers itself, even those of the shimmering cloud. He built up the shields that Rogue's mind had started forming at the tender age of eight. 

"I must protect my investment," he whispered.

The curious and triumphant smile again tugged his lips up into his cheeks. He reached out and touched the imbued webbed shielding of the Core. He took a moment, closing his eyes, to savor the rich potential that existed there. Opening his eyes, his plans took shape in the pattern of the webbing itself. The strands formed the masculine features of a specific face that Rogue, having the vision, recognized immediately. The face was Gambit's. The image continued to form to show Gambit in a containment cylinder watching Sinister ponder a menagerie of X-Men figurines, Rogue's included.

"My projects." Sinister said before he turned his attention to the gash in the web shielding. He ran his hand over top of the gash, from top to bottom, and the gash knitted itself together. He took one long look at the mindscape, content with his handiwork as he felt Rogue's powers wearing themselves out, as he felt himself leaving Rogue's mind and body.

"You are now Sinister's bond."

Then he was gone, his dominance taking all of him out of Rogue. There was no ghostly remnant like with everyone else Rogue ever absorbed. There were no remaining memories or powers. There was nothing left of Sinister inside of Rogue at all. 

The web shielding, stronger than it had ever been before, shuddered. A slight sheen shimmered just under its surface.

Sinister was gone, but the Core remembered him. The shimmering cloud remembered him.

****

~~~~~~~~~~~

"And through the life force and there goes her friend on her Nishiki. It's out of time and through the portal they can make amends..." (Bells For Her –by Tori Amos) 

The vision dragged Rogue to another time and place. This time she saw a maelstrom outside the mindscape. She saw herself being pulled inside the Siege Perilous along with Mastermold and Nimrod. Then Shwoom! The vision pulled her in as well, but where she landed was not where she landed when, in the past, she had gone through the portal. This time, she was again inside her mindscape to find, yet again, another, even more fiercer maelstrom raging inside. This time, the Core was stripped open, gaping for the powers-that-be to decide Rogue's ultimate fate. With what they find there, they will choose to either correct something broken in her and set her loose in the world for a second chance—or they could keep her trapped in the Siege Perilous forever more. 

Strange glowing spheres that stretched and wove like liquid in a zero gravity atmosphere moved in and around the contents of the Core. There were hundreds of them... thousands, even. Then they multiplied, moving like hyper-active bees, working faster and faster, excited and distraught by what they find. They studied Nineteen and her pets and tossed her to the side. Thirteen was next, then fifteen, then Eleven, the real Eleven. While the others were discarded, Eleven was carefully set down some distance from the storm surrounding the Core. All was quiet where the spheres set her. They swarmed around her, transforming the quiet in their wake. A great gnarled tree sprouted up and twisted out, reaching over a replica of the Mississippi River sidled by a muddy and grassy bank. Golden rays burst through the breaks of the branches and leaves of the great tree. Finally, a handed snaked playfully around the edge of the tree trunk, then a foot, then a happy face full of as much sunshine as the rays that filled this southern oasis with life. Seeing each other, Eleven and Cody, gave quick nods of appreciation to the spheres, then ran off to play. The spheres paused, pleased with their work before returning to the remaining shadows of the Core.

There were empty places, seven or eight of them, that the spheres buzzed around then tossed to the side. Then they settled on a fiery spire engulfing a lone child-figure that lie atop its kindling. The spheres tried to study, to swarm, to alter, but the fire roared larger the closer they came. Growing impatient, the spheres gathered and attacked all at once only to be surprised by two halves of the shimmering cloud enveloping the fiery spire and the child-figure on it.

All at once, the spheres stopped. They reared back, a marching band seen from miles away to gather into eight rings, each encircling an opposite direction from the one above and below it. Counter-clockwise and clockwise, they teamed up and stalked in a rhythm off from the one above and below.

Pause.

"We must fix, but you stop us." 

The rings shrank, inching closer. The two halves of the shimmering cloud swirled and flared like the fire of the spire. The spheres reared back, maintaining their rings.

"You attack us?!" The again spun opposite each other, but this time it was contemplative, not stalking.

Pause.

"No, not attack. You protect." They rush in, the rings shrinking, and though the clouds swirl and flare, the spheres hold their closeness. "We will fix. You will protect."

The spheres attack. The cloud had not a chance. They buzz and swarm, multiplying and multiplying so that all that was seen was a giant writhing spherical mass, several times the size of the original Core, with the glowing spheres spinning, swimming, leaping, fixing. It swelled larger and larger, encompassing all of the mindscape while managing to avoid Eleven's oasis. They remove and stitch, repair and replace. They grab hold of Carol, buzzing around her, upset and frantic. They lift her, sever the strands of the webbing from her, and pass her through one of the shadows. Not just any shadow, but the largest, mass of inky void there.

Then they fled, taking the freed Carol with them. 

When the last of them had gone, the mindscape looked much as it had before they had entered. The Core was again a sphere of tacky twine, by web strands. All the shadows and clouds and persona figures, except for Eleven, who remained in her oasis with Cody, were held inside the Core, while all the absorbed ghosts were left outside. Several strands of the Core's webbing stretched and connected other parts of the mindscape to the Core. Rogue's absorption power was sectioned off against a far corner and held in check, though not controlled, by an intricate webbing of its own that stemmed from the Core as well. 

There were only three real differences that Rogue could see in the vision. The first was Eleven's oasis. The second was the removal of Carol. The third was the way the webbing seemed alive all on its own. It also had a slight sheen to it that shimmered. One half of the shimmering cloud was now merged with protective webbing. Like the spheres had said, the shimmering cloud was now the protector itself... at least half of it was.

But still, the vision had not revealed the identity of the shimmering cloud.

****

~~~~~~~~~~~

"...Can't stop loving. Can't stop what is on its way. And I see it coming and it's on its way." (Bells For Her –by Tori Amos)

The vision swam again. Outside the mindscape once more, Rogue emerged from the Siege Perilous. She was remade. She was fixed... ready for a future purpose. Rogue watched in fast motion as it all unfolded again like she remembered. She discovered that she lost Carol's powers. She fought Carol's dying essence, then fled to the Savage Land by way of stealing Gateway's powers. Rogue was happy in the Savage Land, finding a semblance of freedom from fear of her powers and thus a life of her own. Carol's essence found her and Rogue chose to give in to her, to make right a wrong that had happened so long ago. Rogue chose to give Carol her life back. But, no, it wasn't to be. Magneto stepped in and made a choice of his own. He chose to save Rogue, to fix her as he saw fit.

Inside the mindscape again, one more maelstrom occurred from Magneto's re-integrating Carol's essence into Rogue. It was a small storm, nothing like those when she'd absorbed Carol originally, or when Sinister took over and nowhere close to the one that occurred with the Siege Perilous. At the end of this tiny storm, a few small gaps were stretched in the tiring webbed shielding. A tendril of shimmering cloud peaked out, pressing against the edges of the gaps, making them bigger. Slowly, but surely, the gaps got bigger. The process took more than a year, and the vision didn't show Rogue the end product. It didn't need to. Rogue saw it when she visited the Core with Jean and Emma. The shimmering cloud had been freed.

****

~~~~~~~~~~~

"And through the life force and there goes her friend on her Nishiki. It's out of time and through the portal they can make amends..." (Bells For Her –by Tori Amos)

The hall was quiet as a midnight silence. It was quiet as the Mississippi frozen in time to mourn for the murder of a mother it was falsely accused of, a murder the mother's daughter—Lily—knew of before anyone was told. It was as quiet as Lily had been the whole three years since she felt her mother's death.

The turn and click of Lily's closing door choked the silence, making Mr. Beauregard nervously check both ways down the hall. It was as dark as it had been quiet, so he couldn't see anyone even if they were there... and they were there... and they wanted to be known.

A purposefully heard step snapped Mr. Beauregard's attention to find Corrin's figure in the dark, rounding the corner, coming at him with accusations in her eyes that he knew would stream from her mouth a moment later.

Corrin halted her advance on him. She clutched her quilt tighter around her, having felt a chill from his icy glare. It stilled her voice for a pause, but she wouldn't be stilled any more. 

"Ah heard ya gave good council ta Annie 'bout her boyfriend gettin' pushy with her." 

Corrin stepped closer. 

"Annie an' her mama an' her papa went on an' on 'bout how ya saw Joey foh the snake that he was." 

Corrin stepped closer. 

"Annie done told him off and broke it off with him next time he tried to get too friendly with his hands." 

Corrin neared the door, only a few feet from Mr. Beauregard and Lily's closed bedroom door. Still, Corrin stepped forward. Mr. Beauregard stepped back. Lily's door became a border between them. 

"What ah'm wondrin' 'bout now, sir, is why ya didn't give Lily the same advice—"Corrin met Mr. Beauregard's eyes—"'bout you."

Corrin didn't move, but Mr. Beauregard took another step back. 

"Mrs. Beauregard knew, didn't she?"

Another step back and Mr. Beauregard's eyes swept to Lily's door. There was something about it...

"She knew all yoh titles. Preacher, husband, daddy... molester. An' soon enough, convict."

"You called the police?" Another step back, there was something about Lily's door.

"Had ta see foh mahself first, sir. But Imma 'bout ta—"

Lily's door opened. "Stop." 

Mr. Beauregard leapt at Lily. 

"Stop!" She didn't have the persuasive voice her daddy had.

Corrin leapt to protect her.

"Stop!" 

And they did. But, it was too late.

Lily was a mutant. She just didn't know she was one. She didn't know something that mostly seemed so normal as finishing a person's thoughts was really a power of her own. She didn't know she was a low-level telepath. She was so weak of power that she couldn't make people do or think what she wanted. She could just feel them... well, those she was really close to. And in moments of extreme stress, she felt more. She felt her mother's death. Well, she felt her mother disappear. It wasn't a traumatic suffering of Lily literally experiencing her mother dying. Rather, like a phone line being cut, the awareness of her mother was just severed. It wasn't painful for Lily in the least. It was just unsettling. 

Lily was a weak telepath, but it was enough.

Lily watched her father's launch on her be interrupted by Corrin attempt to protect her. Lily watched her father's younger, stronger mass slam into Corrin and knock her to the ground. Lily heard the crunch of elderly bones as her father's younger, stronger mass crash on top of Corrin. Lily felt the familiar unsettling emptiness when Corrin died.

__

She only fell. He only landed on her. People don't die from falls. They don't die from that. They don--

And that's when it struck her. Lily, tears streaming down her eyes, looked to her father as he frantically searched for a pulse on Corrin and she knew. The reason she saw her father's sweat roll down her own cheek was because of her own ability. It wasn't just her imagination. It wasn't just her father's persuasive murmurs convincing her that—AND THAT!!! She realized that was his ability. He was like her. She had gotten it from him. She was like him. And, both of them weren't like others.

The word mutant wouldn't be learned until later.

"She's dead, Papa."

"Shush, Lily," he stammered frantically as he started to give Corrin CPR. He didn't mean to kill her. He hadn't meant to kill Lily's mother. _It was an accident. It was an accident. It was an accident. It was an_—"Ya don't know anything 'bout anything." His accent was showing in his urgency.

Lily watched him and heard him and felt him. She felt the prickle of the connection, now that she was consciously aware of it. She also felt his voice. She touched his shoulder and he flinched. She waited for him to stop his futile efforts to save Corrin, then said, "Ah know she's dead, Papa. Ah felt her go... like ah felt Mama..."

All the while Lily spoke, Mr. Beauregard got up and paced, trying to formulate a cover story. "Okay, we gotta... okay... um... Ah know. Ya had a nightmare and Corrin heard ya and she---" He stopped and looked to Lily. She was blank and staring, not really paying attention like usual. She had to pay attention. Their stories had to match. This wouldn't be as easy to explain as his wife had been. 

But she was staring at him and she looked so condescending, so understanding, so in tune with...

He froze. "Like ya felt yer Mama?" He asked tentatively, fearfully, his accent drawing out like the memories of his youth. 

Sweaty days on the banks of the Mississippi flooded him. He would foot it to the main road of his shantytown and watch the fancy cars being driven past, quick as lightning. The folks inside, wealthy folks of class and snobbery, who feared they'd catch the disease of poverty if they drove through too slowly. He dared the other boys to run out in front of one of those fancy cars and make them stop. Then he could show them that being poor wasn't a plague. Over and over, day after day, month after month, he dared them. At first, the other boys told him he was nuts. Then they laughed with him, but still called him nuts. Then they laughed and jeered and made up all sorts of stories of what they would do to frighten the rich people from that one section Caldecott with that snooty name of Luciole Animée [Firefly Lively]. And then, one day, they all did it. They all did it. They ran right in front of the car, all six of them. Even when one died and two had broken bones when the car swerved instead of just stopping, he couldn't believe they'd actually done it. That was the moment he really caught on to his abilities of suggestion. He'd had small hints of it before, but it'd taken a long time because it wasn't strong, it took lots and lots repetition for the suggestion to sink in, but that was the defining moment. 

And now, right then and there, was the defining moment that he learned his daughter's realization.

"Like ya felt yer Mama?" He repeated as he grabbed Lily's shoulders and shook her. "Explain. What do ya feel?" His mind raced. He'd passed his ability on to his daughter. He'd always feared and hoped for that. But, he couldn't feel people. He had to watch and wait for the physical evidence of his suggestions. He couldn't feel them being persuaded. Perhaps Lily's ability was stronger than his was. Or maybe, it was a little different. Whatever it was, he had to figure it out. He had to make her realize that she had to hide it. If his congregation found out what he could do... how he got them to put a little bit more money into the donation plate... If the politicians found out how he convinced them to give the land grants and building grants and project grants... "Tell me!"

Lily felt him trying his voice on her. In feeling it, she could feel how to ignore it. She could ignore it because of her own weak abilities.

"It doesn't work anymore, Papa," she told him. "Your voice doesn't work anymore. I can feel that too now."

He flinched back from her. "My voice?" He pulled back, stepping away from her. He was almost offended, and he was most definitely defensive. His pride took away the drawl, gave him back his need for control. "It's not just my voice." 

"Yeah, it is just yer voice."

"What about you? You feel things? That's not your voice. How could you feel things?" He was becoming indignant now.

She tapped her head. "Ah feel it here." She looked to Corrin. "And now, ah don't feel her at all. Ah didn't know ah even felt her till she was gone. Then... then... a wet, sort of snap, and there was nothing of her anymore."

Her father took another step back from her. "So, it's more like psychic stuff... ESP... I think that's what they call it. Is that what it is? Can you hear people's thoughts?"

Lily was pensive a moment. "Ah don't think so." Then she rubbed her arms, as though if chilled, as though goose pimples would show on her skin if her nightgown hadn't covered her arms. "Ah feel it everywhere sometimes. It's like a tingle. Like I'm not in mah own skin." She hugged herself tight. "But sometimes ah can tell what yer gonna say befoh ya say it." 

"How much do you know, Lily?" He rushed up on her. "How long has this been happening?" He reached, violently for her arm, but remembering how she said she could feel things, he didn't grab her. He just left his hand hovering there, mere inches from her. "Who else have you done this—"she was staring at his hand that wouldn't touch her—"Stop that and look at me."

She did. The tight smile that was steadily creeping up her cheeks gave him chills. 

"What?" he snapped.

"Ya won't touch meh." The moment she said it, she regretted it. Saying it gave him another piece of her.

"Forget about that, now, Lily, answer my damn questions!"

She was shocked. She was careful not to let him see it though. Did he not pick up on what she just told him because he was too self-important or did she do that, did she make him not notice her slip up? Whatever it was, she wouldn't press it right then. She wouldn't give herself away completely. "It was the same with Mama and with Corrin. Just the people I'm the closest ta, ya know." Actually, maybe she could embellish, make him really afraid to ever touch her again. Her smile broadened. "With ya'll ah could do more. Ah first felt it when ya killed Mama."

He reeled back like she'd slapped him. "Y-y-you knew."

She had suspicions, but she didn't really know until right then... but what he didn't know... "Ah knew," she said. Her voice was steel, strong as the steel they made in the shantytown a few miles down river. "Of course ah knew. That was the first time ah happened ta—" Lily wanted to put more fear in him. She was tempted to step up on him, make him back away like she knew Corrin had been doing with him, but she really didn't want to get that close to him if she could avoid it. "Ah felt Mama die and ah felt ya kill her."

He stumbled back, and was somehow surprised to find there was a wall there. "What else do ya know?"

"Lots more, Papa, lots more. Like ah know ya won't eveh touch meh again."

It took him a moment to get it. He looked at his hands. He looked past her, into her room, to see her bed, to see the sheets scattered on the floor. Apparently, she'd thrown them there as soon as he'd left the room. Finally, he looked at her.

"Don't give me that look, Papa." He was appalled at her gall, at her attempt to blackmail him. She enjoyed the power she had over him now. "After all, ah learned it from ya." She closed her door and left him there alone with Corrin, dead on the floor.

He looked at Corrin, suddenly remembering her and remembering his dilemma. He wondered if Lily had remembered Corrin. He didn't think Lily could be that cold to Corrin. Lily had known and loved Corrin for her entire life. How could Lily just leave her there on the floor like that? Lily hadn't even shed one tear over Corrin.

As if on cue, or as if Lily had read his thoughts, she opened her door and said, "Ya won't evah see me cry again, Papa. Not ever." She looked down at Corrin then, her face softening into a gentle, yet sad smile. 

"But, the police, we'll have to tell—"

"Ah was asleep the whole time, Papa." Her voice was solid and stern. "All she did was fall. Ah didn't hear a thing." She started to close the door, then paused, meeting his eyes once more and said, with finality, "Just so we got our stories straight."

She closed the door and cried for the loss of Corrin. Her father never heard nor saw her tears again, not even at Corrin's funeral.

"...And through the walls they made their mud pies. I've got your mind, I said, she said, I've got your voice, I said, you don't need my voice girl you have your own, but you never thought it was enough of... So, they went years and years like sisters, blanket girls, always there through that and this. There's nothing we cannot ever fix, I said..." (Bells For Her –by Tori Amos)

****

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

To be continued in Chapter 17 – Firefly Lively

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

FOOTNOTES:

[1] This is loosely quoted (paraphrased from memory actually) from an issue of X-Factor way back during the whole Goblin Queen and Sinister's introduction story lines.

****

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

I need to know what mysteries you want explained further, what questions you need answered, and reassurances that all my tricky little manipulations are working. Reviews are a great way to let me know, so don't forget to review. 

** __**

"It's that li'l GO button on the bottom… go ahead, push it… ya know ya want ta… its begging ya… push the button... PUSH IT!" Giggle.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~


	17. Chapter 17 Firefly Lively

Author's Notes: Don't work to hard in figuring this out this chapter. If need be, I will spell it out clearly in Chapters to come. For now, simply enjoy the ride. 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Seether

Chapter Seventeen – Firefly Lively

By Randirogue

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

It caught quickly, like gasoline soaked tinder. A spark and it burned. Oh, it burned! The burning weakened it, made joints and supports buckle and snap. Embers danced around like lively fireflies.

****

~~~~~~~~~~~

"Lumina, come and wrap around me. Lumina, take me through the snow. Eve took a train. Eve took a train, went to see her man. Melting inside, melting away, like butter in the pan." (Lumina –by Joan Osborne)

It was just her luck that the train was coming across the bridge over the Mississippi when it did. It was just her luck that it slowed for some issue she knew not. It was just her luck that the same tears that fought against the choking black smoke from the church fire also fought the great puffs of the old chugger on its historic journey repeating its maiden voyage. With each cough from the inhaled smoke, with each hiccup of a sob, with every wipe of her tear soaked cheeks, the Core took form, took form by chopping off more and more of her previous existence. By the time she got off the train, stumbling, rolling, scraping her elbows and knees, she couldn't remember why she was there, not even her real name.

She wasn't scared or worried though. She saw this neat little clearing up ahead with an old gnarled tree that overhung the water at a particularly pleasant looking spot. She got this immediate image of what it would be like to swing on a tire and splash into the water below. She took off at a full run, intending to do just that.

A few hours later, her tummy rumbled. She dug into her soot covered teddy bear back pack and found a half eaten, soggy peanut butter and jelly sandwich. The bread on one side looked bruised, purple where the jelly had been absorbed. The thermos was empty and smelled a little rank. It hadn't been closed correctly and the orange juice was nothing more than a smelly sticky film on the inside. Three animal cookies were left in the ziplock bag. They were all tigers. Something about the tigers... maybe... oh well, they seemed fine when she chomped them down. She didn't remember that her mother had convinced her not to eat them, not to like them because of some bias the daughter never quite understood.

The sun was setting, lighting the night like fire... fire... fire...

She shook her head and pulled out her dog-eared book. It wasn't quite a novel, though she liked to announce that it... or did she?

She shook her head again, and with a yawn, she began to read.

"...another enemy had fallen by his hand. He was near the main mast, so, like the bold and cheery rogue pirate he was, he climbed up a few rungs and yelled..." 

It was too dark to read anymore. Even her tiny fire... fire... fire—she shook her head—was just a few smoldering bits now, but that was okay. Using her soot covered teddy bear backpack like a pillow, sleep soon took hold and dreams of being the heroic and adventurous rogue out to save the handsome prince filled her wholly.

"Seether is neither loose nor tight. Seether is neither black nor white. I tried to keep her on a short leash. I tried to calm her down. I tried to ram her into the ground." (Seether –by Veruca Salt)

****

~~~~~~~~~~~

It caught quickly, like gasoline soaked tinder. A spark and it burned. Oh, it burned! The burning weakened it, made joints and supports buckle and snap. Embers danced around like lively fireflies.

****

~~~~~~~~~~~

"Lumina, come and wrap around me. Lumina, take me through the snow. Eve took the fruit. Eve bit the fruit, juice ran down her chin. Babies will put things in their mouth, never heard of sin." (Lumina –by Joan Osborne)

She was crying when she carried the gas can in from the lawn maintenance shed out back. It was heavy for her gangly arms and banged against her gangly legs, most likely bruising them, as she lugged it that short distance across the picture perfect manicured lawn and in the side door of the church. She knew he would be there, as he was every night after dinner. She'd spied on him so many times as he sat in the eleventh row of pews, elbows on the back of the pew ahead of him, head bowed, half sobbed prayers asking for forgiveness and strength of will when he made a sound at all. Her Mama had given her many a talking-to when she spied on him, but she couldn't help herself. She felt so responsible for his torment, so responsible because she was sure the things her Mama convinced her to do and say were the very reasons for his torment, and that torment only seemed to whet her Mama's hunger to torment him more. She knew for sure what small torment had initiated the nightly ritual a little more than three years before.

She had been about five, the very night of her fifth birthday actually. He'd been so happy to surprise her with a party filled with everyone she knew from the kids' group at his church. His life was she and the church, and her life came from living in his world, and thus, her life was filled with the church and him... and of course her Mama. Her Mama... 

She'd never sensed that anything he'd done was wrong or not appropriate, especially how he gave her kisses on her cheek or forehead, or when he blew raspberries on her tummy, or when he tickled the backs of her knees and the bottoms of her feet. But, her Mama insisted otherwise. Her Mama was so adamant that his touch was bad, so bad, that it was best she avoid all touch just to stay in practice of avoiding his. 

"It's safer this way, Caitlyn," Mama had said. "If he thinks it's just how ya are, that ya are just finicky 'bout people touchin' ya, then he's less likely ta get violent with ya."

"Violent?" She'd asked, shocked and confused. "He's not violent. How can ya say that? He's never even spank—"

"Ah know!" Mama took a moment to compose her voice, since that was about all she seemed to have anyway. "Trust meh, sweetie. Ah know what he's like. Yoah just still too young. But yoah getting older. Yoah reachin' that age that drives him wild with—"

"Okay, Mama," she said. She'd do anything to keep her Mama calm. She'd do anything to keep life just normal like other people. "Okay, Mama. Ah'll do what ya ask."

And so, that night, after the cake, and the five candles, and the ice cream, and the teddy bear backpack from Uncle Byron, and all the other gifts from everyone else, she did as her Mama instructed. She parroted exactly the words her Mama said to use, the words that would most stab the point to him. 

Like every other night, he made up her bath with lots of pretty smelling bubbles and her two bath dolls. He got her and brought her up to the room to brush her hair, undress her, and help her bathe. But this night, after he brushed her hair and before he pulled her shirt over her head, he stared at her with the most fascinated look on his face. For a moment, she doubted her confidence in him, her confidence that her Mama was wrong about him. 

"You're so beautiful, Caitlyn," he said. "I'm so lucky to get this chance again, and I'm gonna do it right this time. It'll be perfect, so perfect."

He was so tender when he tucked a lock of her hair, probably one of the white shocks at her temples, behind her ear. His fingers lingered there on that oh so soft skin of her ear before her questioning voice said, "Grandpa?" and brought him back to himself.

He cleared his throat and reached into his pocket. He pulled out the small jewelry box and opened it for her. "You're growing up so fast, Caitlyn. You're getting to be such a big girl, such a beautiful, perfect big girl." He presented her with contents of the box, a strong gold chain with a heart pendant dangling on it. "Lift your hair for me, baby gir—ahem—pretty girl," he said with a wink as he undid the clasp.

She bit her bottom lip. Nervous, excited, a jumble of emotions all colliding with each other and with her Mama's warning, goading voice prodding from behind those emerald orbs of hers. She lowered her eyes, defeated, though still unsure of so much, and lifted her dual colored hair so he could put the necklace on her.

He pressed her hair back into picture perfect place and then lifted the locket, heavy and low on her chest, to show her that it opened up. He held it at an angle so she could see the picture inside of an angelic face with its pale strawberry-brown hair and green, green eyes that held a sort of distance in them. He stroked the edges of that heart pendant, and she got the feeling he imagined himself stroking the girl in the picture herself were he able to. "This is Lily," he said and swallowed down a choked sob. A deep breath and then, "She's beautiful, isn't she? Ya got her eyes, ya know? Ya got your Mama's eyes, pretty girl."

She looked at those eyes and wanted to disagree, wanted to say that hers had something that the picture's eyes were missing. She didn't have the word for it then, but her eyes did indeed have more life in them.

"They're close, all right," she settled for saying. "But—" The lost look on his face made her forget what she was going to say.

"Light," Mama supplied. "Fire, he stole any fire Ah evah would've hoped ta have. No, not stole, killed."

"You're right," he said to her. She tried to listen harder to him because she liked what he had to say more than what her Mama was saying. Ugly things, her Mama always spoke of. Always, such ugly things. "You've got more spark to ya, Caitlyn. You've got more sass and spirit." 

He closed the locket and lowered it and pressed it against her chest with his palm. Lingering. A deep breath and he met her eyes, those lively and fiery emerald eyes, and said, "You won't end up like she did. No, no, I think not. I think you're a survivor."

"Say it!" Mama screamed from behind those very eyes he spoke so complimentary of. "Say it now, Caitlyn! Now!"

"Ah... Ah..."

"Shh," he said as he removed his hand off the locket and her chest. He pressed a gentle kiss to her brow. "You don't have to thank me, Caitlyn. It was my pleasure. It will always be my pleasure." 

He started to lift off her shirt.

"Do it, Caitlyn," Mama screeched. "Befoah it's too late, do it, say it!"

"Ah want ta do it mahself," she said as she grabbed his hands to stop him. He mistook her down tilted glance as modesty, as shyness of some new girlish sort. It was embarrassment, for sure, but not for the reasons he surmised. Still, it worked for what she had promised she'd do. "It's like ya said, Ah'm a big girl now. And Ah... Ah don't think it's right..."

"Say it, Caitlyn. It's not right foah ya ta touch meh."

Gulp. "It's not right foah ya ta touch meh... when Ah wash up and stuff like that."

He staggered back. He looked so pained. "Why, Caitlyn, I've never... I, I... Ah would nevah."

"Oh, yes ya have, daddy," Mama said, triumphant. "And Ah won't be letting ya get your grubby paws on mah daughter next."

For a moment, Mama filled her daughter more than she ever had before. For a moment, the same look accompanied the same smile—that controlling, accusing, satisfied 'I've-got-you-by-the-balls' narrowed grace that Mama had turned on him after she got the upper hand when Corrin had died—peeked out from Caitlyn's emerald orbs and focused like a laser beam on him.

Seeing it, recognizing it, his breath hitched. It hitched. A gesture so resembling what was heard and felt against her ear when she saw his sweat dribble down her cheek as she was seeing through his eyes...

Caitlyn, filled with Mama, raised her hands towards his throat, but Caitlyn feared Mama's intention almost as much as she hated seeing that pained look on Grandpa's face and it was enough to regain her control of herself again.

"Ah just want mah privacy, being a growing girl and all." At a whole five years old.

He scrambled to his feet. "No need to explain, pretty—Caitlyn." He wiped sweat from his brow, smoothed his shirt that was sticking to his chest with more sweat there. His hands were shaking ever so slightly. "I'll go... I'll be in the church if you need me. Just tidy things up there, I guess."

"Sing ta meh—"

"No, don't go invitin' him inta yoah bed aftah this, dang it, Caitlyn!"

"—like usual tonight, ta help meh sleep?"

"Maybe," he said and then he fled. But, he never did read to her after tucking her in again. Heck, he never tucked her in again. 

From that night on, the after dinner routine was forever changed. Like this very night she got the gas can from the maintenance shed, he was spending her designated bath time in prayer in the eleventh row pew in his church.

She was crying when she fumbled the top off and dumped the gas, a little in each of the back rooms first. Then, chewing on one of her pigtails to keep from voicing her cries, she carefully dribbled gas along the edges of the congregation hall. Her muffled sounds may not have given her away, not have broken his concentrated prayers, but she was sure shocked that the smell of the gas hadn't either. She guessed he was just that focused on his praying. And that thought made her want to sob all the more, made her want to plead with Mama for permission to not go through with it.

"No more protestin', Caitlyn," Mama whispered. "Ya gotta mind ya Mama like a good girl."

And she did. Hate it or not, Caitlyn did as her Mama told her to do. But it was too much this time. This was too far this time. Something had to be wrong with Mama for her to ask her own daughter to do such a horrible, horrible thing. How could that same sweet face in her locket with those empty, detached, simply accepting eyes have become the woman she knew as her Mama? The woman that could switch tinkling laughs that sounded like a rippling chime with shrieking tantrums that grated like nails on a chalkboard and with steady, hard, even demands that rubbed like sidewalk on falling knees and elbows? Switch those moods like flipping a coin? Total, complete, with no hint of the others? Whatever it was, it had to be something bad. Something worse than what Mama accused Grandpa of. Something Caitlyn never wanted to know about. Something Caitlyn would do anything to remove, chop off, convince herself and her Mama that it had never happened. 

She would do anything to get away from it all and just be a normal little girl.

She was crying when her arms were screaming from the repeated motion of shaking the gas out of the can and onto the carpet of the final room, the congregation hall, where he sat and prayed so hard. She was crying when she wasted four matches before she got the fire to light. She was crying when she was trying to make it out of the church before the flames got to her first. She was crying when she heard her favorite Uncle call out to her, "Rogue, no, don't!" She always loved that he called her that, made her feel like her favorite character from that book that he'd given her. But wait, was it him that said that, or was it—

No, no, he never called her that like it was a name... did he? He would pick her up from school and they'd got get ice cream and pass the time until his wife, her Aunt, was done with her work—she was a greeter at the bank. And he had come up with the idea of reading these little paperback novels stuffed full of pirates, and heroes, and damsels in distress. She would scrunch her nose up at that and complain that if the girl would stop acting all silly she could do just as good, no, better, she'd do a better job at rescuing herself than that silly, arrogant boy could. They would take turns reading. Well, mostly he read, really, but she heard that one story about the dashing rogue pirate so many times that she could recite it by heart already.

Was it really Uncle Byron, simple and sweet Uncle Byron who kept the lawn and trees and flowers at the church and the house looking so nice that had done all that reading with her? No, it couldn't have been him. It had to be her Mama. Her mama was smart. Quiet girl once, but just cause she didn't talk a lot didn't mean there wasn't a lot going on in her head. Yeah, that's it, it was her Mama that did it. Of course it was her Mama that read to her all that time. Of course it was her Mama that was rushing in to save her from all that smoke that was making her gag and making her cry. Of course it was her Mama telling her no, don't, stop, because that's what Mamas do. Mamas teach their little girls to be good, they don't tell them to burn down their Grandpa's church. 

So, that was it. Her Mama was rushing in all bright and shiny, sacrificing herself to save her precious daughter. Her Mama wasn't dead and gone and nothing but a voice in her head. That was crazy talk. Not just simple talk, like Uncle Byron, but out and out crazy talk. Whoever heard of a dead Mama telling her baby girl to do such nasty stuff as pour gasoline over the county's prized church and try to kill the head preacher, who just happened to also be her Grandpa?

But... But... Only horrible, horrible, evil naughty girls would do such a thing on their own. And she wasn't that. She knew that. Mischievous maybe, but not evil, not murderous. But then... But then...

"But ya (cough) told meh ta, (cough) Mama!" She couldn't breathe. The smoke was thick and black. She couldn't breathe… but she didn't mind. It was finally over. Finally over. 

Wasn't it?

Byron's twiggy arm wrapped around her and dragged her out of all that smoke. 

She was crying when she was dropped on the front lawn. She was crying as Byron ran back in. She was crying when she saw _him_ try to break through the stained glass window with those aging limbs of _his_. She was crying when he cried out her name, "Caitlyn!"

His voice had been so full of relief to see her out there on the front lawn. His voice had been so full of relief to see she had escaped the burning, burning, burning.

"Caitlyn!" Mr. Beauregard gasped out happily when he saw she was safely outside the church. Only a few minutes before he could've sworn he'd seen one of her dual-colored pigtails bouncing after her as she skipped down the hall towards the church offices. It was then that he'd smelled the smoke and ran after her. He'd searched all through those burning rooms, praying harder than he ever had before that he'd find her in time. Eventually, the fire forced him back into the congregation hall. And for a long searing moment, he was so sure his cowardice, his selfish fear for his own safety had lost her to him forever. But seeing her out there on the lawn, crying, so scared for him, filled him with such blessed relief. "Oh, thank God, Caitlyn!"

"Grandpa!" She took a few stubborn steps toward the inferno that great famous church was becoming, but her legs stopped against her wishes.

Mr. Beauregard saw her take that step to come for him and he froze. "No, pretty girl, don't!" He said it even though he knew she wouldn't hear it. He never saw her stop coming for him though. Something burning fell and trapped him, kept the window from his sight. And not possessed of the young strength he once had, he couldn't lift if off him. He smelled his own clothes and hair and flesh bubbling and burning, but all he thought was a fine prayer of, "Don't let her come after me, God. Don't let her come after me, God. Don't let her come after me, God..." 

It wasn't God that stopped her, though.

"Don't, Caitlyn," Mama insisted. "Ya agreed. Ya agreed this was right. Ya agreed he deserved this."

"Ah changed my mind, Mama," Caitlyn said. "We gotta save him. He's burning! He's burning! It's too much!"

"No," Lily told her. Fierce and venom-filled. "It will never be enough!"

"Ah won't watch it, Ah won't." Caitlyn was tearing at her hair, beating at her head, trying to stop her mother with all her might. "No more, Mama! Ah won't let ya do it no more! He hurt ya not me! Ya! It's over! Ah hate ya! Ah hate ya! How could ya make meh do this! Ah hate ya!"

Every time she screeched "Ah hate ya" Mama was crammed back further and further. It hurt Mama to hear it, and she receded back with each shove with each scream, crumpling and staggering and fleeing and shrinking and... and... She couldn't leave. She was trapped there. Nowhere to go to escape the words stabbed at her by the daughter she only sought to protect for she was inside her, forever inside her. But she couldn't just take it, she couldn't. She wrapped herself tight, self-protection at last. Doing it to herself, right? Or maybe, just helping Caitlyn do it to herself.

__

Hate meh, do ya? Better off on ya own, ya think? Then fine. Have it yoah way, little girl. Go on an' swallow meh down like Ah was nothing ta ya. Go on, go on, go on...

She was running through the field behind the burning church. She didn't see Byron collapse to his knees from the weight of Mr. Beauregard on his shoulders. She didn't see the melted flesh that rose with each of Mr. Beauregard's faint, hitched breaths. She didn't see Byron nod, comprehending in some bizarre and simple way of his, when he saw Caitlyn's tiny shape bobbing through that overgrown grass and nearing that stopping old train. She didn't know he was happy to see her get away even if he was sad to see her leave. She never knew he prayed every night for her happiness and prosperity.

"Go on, Caitie, our little rogue," Byron had whispered when he hauled his brother, Mr. Beauregard into his car. "Go on and escape."

Catie had been eight years old, that's all, when she set the fire in the church and then ran out of that section of Caldecott everyone called Luciole Animée [Firefly Lively]. But, in a way, she might as well have been a newborn. She cut off those first eight years, a phenomenon that was the birth of the Core and the birth of Rogue, swallowed them away, crammed them into the forgotten, and snapped shut inside the mouth of the spider web purse.

"Seether is neither big nor small. Seether is the center of it all. I tried to rock her in my cradle. I tried to knock her out. I tried to cram her back in my mouth." (Seether –by Veruca Salt)

****

~~~~~~~~~~~

It caught quickly, like gasoline soaked tinder. A spark and it burned. Oh, it burned! The burning weakened it, made joints and supports buckle and snap. Embers danced around like lively fireflies.

****

~~~~~~~~~~~

"Lumina, open like a sieve. Lumina, see me in the dark. Eve had to ask. Eve had to ask, what is wrong with this? Here is the place. Now is the time. Let's invent the kiss." (Lumina –by Joan Osborne)

Dominic, the greasy, boasting nephew of Caldecott's once beloved preacher Mr. Beauregard, rubbed the lotion into his hands. He felt powerful in that moment. All conversation had ceased. All attention was on him, as if waiting on him. He knew more than the rest of them combined. He was feeling powerful indeed. Still, it wouldn't be enough...

A chuckle bubbled up out of him. His greasy blubber shook with his mirth at the situation. "Marshall's gonna be pissed." He shook harder. It was creepy.

Blam! Blam! Blam!

Storm's walls of updraft wind, dirt, and dust, collapsed. Gyrich's guards had guns and they had used them.

The pain seized Storm like a vice grip on her arm. Fuchsia pink zipped past her view to strike and explode against the gun that likely shot her. Her own retaliation crackled and sizzled in vein after vein of crisp and violent lightning that leapt from beam brace to beam brace, gun to gun, and pitchfork to shovel to every other conductor in the dry, dry barn.

One spark was all it took and all that hay caught fire. It quickly spread to the walls and the high beams and the loft and the other bails of hay and the loose hay on the dirt floor. Smoke billowed and rose and swirled through all the thrown punches, kicks, and power blasts. 

Someone grabbed Storm, Bishop, she thought, and a few steps later, Remy had a hold of her other side. They both carried her out. The others ran out as well. The front wall, licked by the angry flames, angry that its victims had escaped it, snapped loose and chased them at their heals.

Wooooosh!

A great rush of dirt and debris billowed over them all. Yet, still, the wood burned. And now a tree, and another, and another, and another...

Storm was not happy by what was happening one bit, unhappy in a way that was unnatural to her. The clouds rolled in, dark and ominous. Thunder rolled and echoed and threatened. Lightning crackled overhead, splitting the sky wide open, it seemed. The wind, oh, the wind howled her curses for her, for all of them, for the prospect of a little girl who had ran from home at so young an age so full of rage and confusion, never to return. The rain may have been directed at the burning barn and trees, but her fury, her fury was directed at Dominic and Gyrich and whoever else may have been responsible for that entire mess they all had been dragged into.

"Hey, Stormy," Gambit said. "I t'ink y' can tone it down a bit."

Storm's own parents had died on her, leaving her orphaned on the streets of Cairo. They couldn't help themselves; it was out of their control. But, what type of family would chase away their own child? Chase her off and never track her down? Never care where she ended up, if she even lived or died? Prefer to just assume her dead so they could weep and wail and soak up the sympathy for the loss of her? Sweep her memory away, except where political savvy could choke it for power threshold?

Storm rose, hovering so slightly out of their reach. Her eyes were solid white, no irises. She turned those glowing orbs on Gambit and answered him, "No, Gambit, I think not! They must pay. They must all pay!"

"Keep her down, boiling water. Keep her down, what a lovely daughter. Oh, she is not born like other girls, but I know how to conceive her. Oh, she may not work like other girls, but she's a snarl toothed Seether - Seether!" (Seether –by Veruca Salt)

****

~~~~~~~~~~~

It caught quickly, like gasoline soaked tinder. A spark and it burned. Oh, it burned! The burning weakened it, made joints and supports buckle and snap. Embers danced around like lively fireflies.

****

~~~~~~~~~~~

"Lumina, come and wrap around me. Lumina, come and wrap around me. Lumina, come and wrap around me..." (Lumina –by Joan Osborne)

Rain pounded down a release of frustration, a release of confusion... because they still didn't have the entire story. They still weren't any closer to solving the riddle that was Rogue, that was her most recent disappearance, nor the conundrum that was the diaries.

"This is... odd," Bishop said.

"No kiddin', pup," Gambit said. "Gettin' the feelin' Storm's not in her right mind."

Bobby slid in on an ice slide. "What happened?" 

"Y' don't feel it? It's like when Imposter—Dieu!" Gambit gasped as he clutched at his chest. The slow seeping ache suddenly tripled there.

"Goddess!" Storm dropped out of the sky. Good thing she was only about ten feet up.

Bobby gasped and choked for air and de-iced so quickly it looked like it was sucked out of him, inside out. 

Bishop grunted and nearly dropped his gun.

Dominic, thinking to take advantage of their distraction, scrambled to his feet. He had no qualms about leaving Gyrich or the thugs behind to save his own hide. Neal's boot on his shoulder stopped him, though. 

"Don't think so," Neal said. Both hands were free and poised to let off a shot of his power if needed. He obviously wasn't affected. 

Sage just watched in curiosity. She had never suffered Rogue's power, so like Neal she wasn't affected like Storm, Bobby, Gambit, and Bishop. With the aid of her glasses, her uncanny abilities analyzed, analyzed, analyzed what was happening to them. 

Byron limped up with wily Aaron and ornery Joe. Byron went straight for Bobby, whom he had a semblance of friendship with, and reached out to steady—

"I wouldn't advise that," Sage said in her near monotonous tone. "I don't know for sure if direct contact would make it leap to you as well."

"What in the hell is happenin' ta 'em?" That was ornery Joe. Cranky and put out as he sounded, he was curious, and maybe even worried for the foursome that were slack on the ground, breathing rapidly, and paling more and more by the minute.

"I believe, if my understanding is correct, your long gone Caitlyn is happening to them."

"Caitie?" Wily Aaron, as much as he and Joe and Byron possessed many of the missing pieces of the puzzle, didn't know it all.

"The woman we've been searching for is like us, a mutant." Sage said, even toned. "She drains energy, thoughts, powers from others."

"You really think Rogue's doing this?" Neal. "How?"

"There is a lot still unaccounted for, yes, Neal, but I believe this is her doing, whether on purpose or not."

"Well, what the hell do we do now? We can't touch 'em, so it ain't like we can do much ta help them."

"I will call for assistance," Sage said as she pulled out her cell phone and dialed the mansion. It rang too many times before a strained voice finally answered.

"What?" Paige Guthrie all but yelled into the phone.

"It's Sage and we—it's happening there too, isn't it?"

"If you mean that half the remaining senior staff and some of the rest collapsed with no known cause or reason, then yes."

"Take a message, Paige, and come help!" That was Monet hollering uncharacteristically stressed from some distance on Paige's end of the call.

"Hang on," Paige called back, then on the phone, she said, "Do you know what's going on, Sage? Can you help us?"

"Rogue. You must find Rogue."

"Isn't she with you?"

"She was. She went missing."

"This is crazy, Sage. I know what Rogue's powers are. She can't do this. And even if it is her, there isn't a telepath here unaffected that can work Cerebro to find her. Most of the main team took the Blackbird on a mission to rescue Magneto. Maybe Monet can, but she's never done it before."

"Wait," Sage said, pieces fitting into place. "They found where Sinister is keeping Magneto?"

"Sinister?" That was Neal. He, along with Joe and Aaron's help, was tying up Gyrich, Dominic, and the thugs with some rope Joe kept in his trunk. "The faked diary, those strangers in the black coat... You think?"

Sage nodded and motioned him to quiet while she listened to Paige's rushed explanation.

"I don't know all the details, Sage," Paige was saying. "I wasn't briefed. But, yeah, Scott, Jean, Emma, Logan, and a few others left a couple hours ago."

"Could you patch me through to them?"

"Yeah, but I don't know what good it'd do. They're likely in the middle of the fight right now and with the way things are looking, most of them are dropping like flies too."

"That may be, Paige, but I think it would be a good idea that I speak with them."

A sigh, then, "Gimme a sec. You'll hear a couple of clicks and it'll ring. I hope they answer, Sage, I really do. We're at a loss for what to do here. Every time we try to touch one of them to help them, it spreads."

"Then don't touch them." 

"We know that now. Good luck, Sage." 

There were some clicks, just like she said, and then it rang. 

It rang way too many times.

"Can't fight the Seether. Can't fight the Seether. Can't fight the Seether. I can't see her till I'm foaming at the mouth." (Seether –by Veruca Salt)

****

~~~~~~~~~~~

It sizzled and hissed. Cold water has that effect when it contacts such intense heat. A fine mist thickened the air like the cloying, corroding humidity of an August heat stroke. And still, embers danced around like lively fireflies.

****

~~~~~~~~~~~

"Seether is neither loose nor tight. Seether is neither black nor white. I tried to keep her on a short leash. I tried to calm her down. I tried to ram her into the ground." (Seether –by Veruca Salt)

"By all means, answer Scott's phone, Emma," Sinister said with a satisfied smile.

Rogue and Magneto were on side by side slabs. Both were unconscious, twitching here and there, with a glow of energy surrounding them. On first look, the energy seemed to be from a transfer stemming from Rogue's gloveless hold on Magneto's hand. But, that usually was an invisible transfer, and this wasn't invisible. 

Just inside the door to the former nursery, Scott, Jean, and Kurt were sprawled. Each of them were clutching their chests, breathing rapidly, and paling by the second. Logan was still standing, but it was a struggle to do so. It seemed that his healing factor was fighting the very thing that had dropped Scott, Jean, and Kurt, but it was a losing battle. Jono was completely unaffected and utterly clueless as to what was happening to the others. Emma doubled over when the others were first hit, but then she'd suddenly seemed less affected, and stood straight and tall to face Sinister.

"It could be important, Emma," Sinister taunted. "Why don't you answer it?"

"Because I already know."

"You do, do you?" 

"It's the damn catches," Logan snapped. "It's not just us, is it?"

Sinister was enjoying dragging this out. "Just the catches?"

"Union," Emma answered.

Sinister laughed. "Oh, the arrogance of ignorance."

The speakers perked up, then. "ZzttzzMother, Mother, Mother, Mother, Mother..." 

"Lumina, come and wrap around me. Lumina, take me through the snow. Eve took a train. Eve took a train, went to see her man. Melting inside, melting away, like butter in the pan." (Lumina –by Joan Osborne)

****

~~~~~~~~~~~

It sizzled and hissed. Cold water has that effect when it contacts such intense heat. A fine mist thickened the air like the cloying, corroding humidity of an August heat stroke. And still, embers danced around like lively fireflies.

****

~~~~~~~~~~~

"Seether is neither big nor small. Seether is the center of it all. I tried to rock her in my cradle. I tried to knock her out. I tried to cram her back in my mouth." (Seether –by Veruca Salt)

It was a long and terrible birth. Lily's aunt was in the room with Lily as her coach. She'd never before heard curses stream from Lily as right then. Never heard her curse at all before. The curses were dispersed around ramblings and instructions and explanations spat out desperately to Caitlyn. Lily's aunt assumed that was the baby's intended name. Though they hadn't ever determined the sex of the baby.

"Caitlyn's… her… name—aaaarrrggg!" Lily bellowed. 

When the contraction ended, Lily continued her ranting. 

"Caitlyn's gonna be a spitfire. She ain't gonna put up with crap from nobody. She's gonna be sassyyyyyyyyy!" She hollered through the whole of that one. She didn't even take a breath before she spoke again, beaming, "An' stubborn an' strong." 

Then she did take a breath, a deep painful breath. 

"An' sweet an' carin' an'—" 

Lilly heard the baby's heart monitor go flat. 

The doctor exploded into action. He shouted something about emergency C-section and sedation.

__

No! Yoah gonna do what ya have ta. Whatever it takes!

Flatline. 

The nurse tried to inject something into Lily's IV but Lily smacked her away viciously.

Caitlyn yoah a scrapper.

Flatline. 

The doctor, ready to make the incision, insisted Lily be under anesthesia so again the nurse attempt the injection. This time, Lily almost fell off the side of the bed when she heaved the nurse away. 

"No!" Lily yelped. Lily needed to be awake. It wouldn't work if she wasn't awake.

Yoah a fighter, Caitlyn. 

Flatline. 

The doctor gave up on the sedation and went for it. Lily's piercing shriek put voice to his long cut across her belly.

__

Yoah gonna do what ya have ta. 

Flatline.

The doctor's hands reached deep into her womb, but Lily dug deeper into desperate, determined resolve.

Whatever it takes!

Blip-------------ip.

The baby's heart monitor beeped, then beeped again. Weak and slow as it was, the sound of Lily collapsing back against the bed in exhaustion drowned it out for a moment. The umbilical had been wrapped around Caitlyn's neck, strangling her. But, now that the doctor had loosened it, the beeping of the monitor got louder and steadier. 

Lily's aunt looked to Lily just as Lily's monitor showed one last desperate blip. With one final gasping breath, Lily pushed all of herself, her hopes, her ideals, her strength, her endurance, and her powers, all of it into Caitlyn. She felt it slide through the umbilical into her baby. She tried to hold only one thing back. She held back her memories. It was the one thing she wouldn't give her baby. She wouldn't give Caitlyn the pain her own father had caused her, the pain that stayed with her until her last breath.

Caitlyn's monitor went silent.

Caitlyn was free from Lily so the monitor connected to Lily didn't register a dependent fetus anymore. Caitlyn was living on her own now. Lily's work was done.

Beeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeep. 

Lily's monitor. 

Lily's turn to flatline. 

Beeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeee—

The nurse turned off Lily's monitor. It's missing keening was replaced by the stressed wail of Caitlyn's first cry.

"Lumina, come and wrap around me. Lumina, take me through the snow. Eve took the fruit. Eve bit the fruit, juice ran down her chin. Babies will put things in their mouth, never heard of sin." (Lumina –by Joan Osborne)

****

~~~~~~~~~~~

Sizzling, hissing, cloying, corroding. Cold water has that effect when it contacts such intense heat. A fine mist thickened the air like the cloying, corroding humidity of an August heat stroke. And still, embers danced around like lively fireflies.

****

~~~~~~~~~~~

"Keep her down, boiling water. Keep her down, what a lovely daughter. Oh, she is not born like other girls, but I know how to conceive her. Oh, she may not work like other girls, but she's a snarl toothed Seether - Seether!" (Seether –by Veruca Salt)

"Waaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaah!"

Oh, Caitlyn cried all the time. She had fevers a lot. She was premature, she was weak, she had no mother's breast to suckle on, no mother's arms to hold her close, to share her heart beat like a lullaby, to share her voice—

"Waaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaah!"

Lily's aunt couldn't handle her. Despite her promise to Lily, she had to give Caitlyn over to Lily's father. Mr. Beauregard was a well-known preacher. He had money and lots of people offering help to him. Two nurses from his congregation volunteered time with Caitlyn twice a week each. Care packages showed up daily. Inside the church and the Beauregard home, it seemed the whole of Luciole Animée [Firefly Lively] if not all of Caldecott was rallying for Caitlyn Leigh Gyrich while outside the stoops they whispered hushed rumors about the whereabouts of the absentee father and other such things of a scandalous nature. 

"Waaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaah!"

That constant crying could be quite a headache and a nuisance though. Baby Caitlyn had quite the pair of lungs on her, she did. And nobody could quite understand the reason for all that wailing all the time. Colicky is one thing, but what was going on with Caitlyn... that was just odd, to say the least.

"Waaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaah!"

"Shhhhh, sugah," Mama whispered. If she had a head, she was sure it'd be fit to crack already. If she had hands, she was sure she'd have tore off her ears. If she had ears... 

She didn't understand what was happening. She died. She gave birth to Caitlyn and that was supposed to be it. She felt it. She felt herself slipping away at the end. She felt herself sliding into Caitlyn...

As many times as she reasoned it out, she fought against believing it. The more she fought it, the longer those constant cries continued. She couldn't think with all that crying. She couldn't think. She couldn't—

"Jesus Christ on the cross, Caitlyn, just shut up already!"

"Waaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaah!"

"Ah'm sorry, Caitlyn," Mama whispered. "Ah'm sorry. Ah am. Ah just... Ah'm scared, sugah. Ah'm scared. Ah don't understand. Ah can't, Ah can't... Ah can't be here." But she was. "But Ah am. Ah am."

She just had to face up to it. She was a fully aware person, well a persona at least, trapped inside a newborn's mindscape. Everything was shiny and new, but it was also so abstract. Things flashed by her. Things she didn't understand. Shapes, sounds, textures, tastes, they all brushed by her second hand, filtered through a shiny new baby's conception, which wasn't much, which wasn't solidified, which wasn't standardized of cohesive thought just yet. It was sensory overload. It was trappings. It was insanity, insanity, insanity. She couldn't focus. She needed to focus. She needed Caitlyn to communicate like a reasonable person.

But she couldn't. She was a baby without speech yet, without recognition, without anything resembling mature communication.

"Oh, Caitlyn," Mama sobbed. She felt so defeated. "Yoah Mama done messed up good."

"Waaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaah!"

Exactly.

"Lumina, open like a sieve. Lumina, see me in the dark. Eve had to ask. Eve had to ask, what is wrong with this? Here is the place. Now is the time. Let's invent the kiss." (Lumina –by Joan Osborne)

****

~~~~~~~~~~~

It sizzled and hissed. Cold water has that effect when it contacts such intense heat. A fine mist thickened the air like the cloying, corroding humidity of an August heat stroke. And still, embers danced around like lively fireflies.

****

~~~~~~~~~~~

"Can't fight the Seether. Can't fight the Seether. Can't fight the Seether. I can't see her till I'm foaming at the mouth." (Seether –by Veruca Salt)

"ZzttzzMother, Mother, Mother, Mother, Mother..."

"Ya don't understand what it was like," Impostor Eleven's voice said barely above a whisper over the speakers Sinister had set up. Surprisingly, everyone quieted and listened to her. "A baby's mind... It's such an incomprehensible thing. As alien as the world and the people outside it is ta it isn't even a drop in the bucket to how alien we are ta it. Time and experience and learnin' gives it order, gives it shape, gives it sanity. But the process of reaching that point...

"Ah wasn't prepared foah it. She wasn't prepared foah meh ta be an intruder in it. Who would be? Who _could_ be?"

"Oh woe is me." That was Emma. Not her ghost, but the real deal. "After all this mess you've caused, you're not getting any sympathy from us."

"Ah suppose not," Impostor Eleven's voice said. "Ah suppose not."

"Wait a second here," Logan said. His voice was more gruff than usual from the wear and tear of fighting the effects of the catch. "Yer doin' this? Draining us? The stuff with Gambit, and me and Rogue, and now putting her in this monster's hands? This is all yer doing?"

"Yesssss," Impostor Eleven hissed through the speakers. "And Ah'm just getting started. Ya'll interrupted Mr. Essex's work in here."

"If you would but sit back and let us finish," Sinister said. He knew the answer, but said it anyway. "Well, I'm sure that the effects on all of you would lessen."

"Half in, half out," Impostor Eleven supplied. "It's not a pretty feeling."

"Ya know we can't just sit back and watch." Logan, of course. He punctuated it with the familiar SKINT of his claws' release.

Sinister smiled, condescending. "I didn't think so." A press of a button, a spark, some smoke from the control room to distract them, and when they turned back to where he'd just stood, they found he was gone. He always could come and go from any and every place as he pleased. Wasn't remote teleportation divine?

"Bastard!"

The controlled release was gone with Sinister.

Personas shoved out, pummeling and tearing and shredding through webbed strands of the Core. Nine, Twleve, Fourteen, Twenty, Eighteen, Ten, Sixteen, Nineteen, Twelve, Seventeen... There wasn't one per age. There was one for every traumatic moment, just about, whether life threatening, sanity threatening, or not. Ever wanted to know why Rogue didn't give up much information about her past, any of it, even moments following her joining with the X-Men? This was why. She swallowed it all away. She shoved it all inside that spider web purse and forgot. She did it so often she didn't even know she was doing it. Like breathing, like blinking, after a while it was just something her body did. Habit was like that. If you don't acknowledge the existence of the habit, you couldn't possibly acknowledge a need to end it.

Rogue's mind was turned into a maelstrom again. Personas and ghosts whipped every which way. Domains twisted and stretched, flipped over and back. Webbed strands snapped in places, while others multiplied, strengthened, thickened doubled and tripled in size. And in the heart of it, Impostor Eleven clung onto her sense of self. But she was slipping, losing her grip, remembering what it was like when she first entered, what it was like every single time Rogue touched someone and added that someone inside the mindscape.

**__**

"Enough!"

Vengeance was hers. Survival was hers. A long time coming, it was, and she drew on all that yearning, all that fear, all that waiting, all that desire, all of it. Just all of it. And she took hold of all those catches, and the Closet itself, imbued herself into it, made it hers to control, hers to feed from, simply hers.

Jono's knees buckled. The catch drove into him, a barbed clawed fist that bore into his chest and drank him down. 

Logan passed out. His body hit the floor like a ton of bricks as though Rogue herself had just reached out and touched him.

Emma stumbled back, tried to diamond up, but couldn't. A pause, waiting for the drain on her to increase sharply, but it didn't.

Impostor Eleven brushed it off, Emma was just one person, and reached past her. Not time to worry about that Ivory Queen Bitch right then. She wanted free. Free! And to do that, she needed more people, more energy, more control, more power. More!

The people populating the blocks around the old abandoned hospital never knew what hit them.

"Lumina, come and wrap around me. Lumina, come and wrap around me. Lumina, come and wrap around me..." (Lumina –by Joan Osborne)

****

~~~~~~~~~~~

A fine mist thickened, congealed more dense than the humidity of an August heat stroke. The shimmering cloud solidified into the figure, the shape, the person she remembered being, into Lily. In her wake, sizzling, hissing, cloying, corroding, and deep inside the shredded open Core something burned, molten hot. Like the embers, Lily danced around IT like a lively firefly.

****

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

To be continued in Chapter 18 – Union

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~


End file.
